


Dear Creature of the Homely West

by LuciferIsSatan



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Alternate Universe - No Smaug, Arranged Marriage, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Politics, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hobbit Courting, Hobbit Culture, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Minor Character Death, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:05:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4877980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciferIsSatan/pseuds/LuciferIsSatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the governing law of the Shire, Bilbo Baggins found himself Thain and reluctant diplomat of the hobbits; which, perhaps he wouldn't have minded if the circumstance's were different. Although seeing as he should have been several times removed before he were to obtain such a title, a desolation had befallen Hobbiton and they found themselves without a home and many without their family. </p><p>Yet, with no way to return to the rolling hills of the Shire, Bilbo Baggins found himself in quite the situation indeed; arranged by lords and royalty, to honour aged treaties and debts of old: his hand to be given off to a king he's never met, for the security and safety of his people, and never in all his years would he have thought his life to come to this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not so Happily Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing in the Hobbit fandom, so pardon any mistakes in characterizations that I may accidentally make. This is also poorly self-beta'd so I apologize for those sorts of mistakes as well. Lastly, there may be some altercations to ages and timelines, but otherwise I will stay true to the character's and certain events to an extent. I'll also be playing with dwarvish and hobbitish cultures on small degree's that may not be exact to canon- take that as you will.
> 
> Regardless, I hope you all enjoy. ^^

Bilbo used to think, foolishly and naively in his younger years, that when or if he ever got married, that it would have been a joyous occasion.

The day felt stolen from him. From the Forget-Me-Knots he will no longer be able to give, to the crown of flowers made of Hyacinth's for sincerity, and doted with red and yellow tulips that he now will never feel the anxiousness of plucking. Bilbo dreamed of how the petals would have felt under his fingertips, of how soft and sweet, and the warm honey coated flutter of wings in his chest that he would feel at the prospect when he finally gave effort to weave the stems together. He would never know of the nervous laugh of his first courting dance, and how foolishly they would stumble over toes after the Ceremony of Declaration. Where the Party Tree would have been full of decorations with the banners high, and music full of free spirit with the soft grass underfoot and the excitable warmth of a another family to come together.

Bilbo thought of the rolling hills that he'd never be able to show his beloved, or the children if his intended had been a lass. Never had the chance of having a first disagreement, or to braid the morning blossoms in their hair; he never got the chance to wipe away their tears nor kiss along to their laughter. The long months of courting have been stolen away, left far over to the once green gardens of the Shire, where the west had been lost and where it got them.

It seemed like only hours ago that he had been sitting in his comfortable home of Bag End, warm cup of tea at his elbow and a book settled on his lap. Bilbo can still remember how the firelight danced in his fireplace, warming his toes and seeping into his clothes that fought off the harsh winter cold. The taste of his chamomile still sweet on his lips and warm in his belly when he heard the first cry in the night, the sound sharp and earth shattering, and the distant howls that followed had him so blindly assuming that it was just a hoard of wolves, that had found their way to their once green pastures now overcome with a vast blanket of snow.

It was the shouts that followed that quickly killed the thought of a simple wolf attack.

Fear and a bit of Tookish curiosity had forced him to grab his overcoat and push himself out the quite frankly snowed in door of Bag End. Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he were to have decided to stay inside and hide; if he allowed himself this moment to be a Baggins, like his father. If he would have been safer inside the hole of his Smial that his father had built his mother, but the thought was lost when his eyes had opened to the horror beseeching Hobbiton in a clash of screams and armour.

The dancing of fire was wrong as it encased hobbit and home alike, licking the snow with a disastrous flick and the frost seemed to do nothing to cease it's ever growing spread. It was then the howls were growing more present, and a snarl behind his ear was far too close and gluttonous in nature to be that of a wolf, but those thoughts seemed so distant at the time when his feet forced themselves over the short hill his hobbit hole sat on, and landed quite roughly against the frozen garden underneath, landing in a heap. His fear was ever growing when a rush of hot air has brushed just short of his neck, and with a surprised yelp forced himself onward.

There were growls and shouts of a different sort, loud and fierce and with little grace, Bilbo can remember seeing one of the things emerge from an empty Smail with something blooded hanging off of his shoulder. Bilbo couldn't seem to find a place to hide quick enough, and the thing, with sharp jagged teeth and a white taunt pasty skin reflecting that of the frost about it's thickly covered feet, screamed a victorious yell that had what felt like hundreds (which couldn't have been more than a few dozen) respond with just as much vigor. _Orcs_ Bilbo had thought deliriously, and for countless reasons couldn't bring himself to wonder what was on its back, denying the soft blue flap of something that Bilbo could never admit looked like it had once been a dress.

Hobbits were bolting this way and that, and Bilbo couldn't bring himself to stomach the growls and cries the permeated the air, nor could he bring himself to look behind when all there was at his feet were clots of blood that stained the snow and how the air turned dark with smoke and ash. Bilbo found himself faltering in step for the first time since he'd left his hobbit hole, and at that moment Bilbo can remember the surge of complete and utter horror when he heard a familiar voice not too far away; something sick settling in his gut at the fear in their cry, the plea on their lips, and for a split horrifying moment, Bilbo considered turning away.

The moment passed and Bilbo, much to his own dismay, realized he was back tracking, his steps becoming more sure with each passing second. He didn't know what he planned to do, nor what thought he could accomplish by going back, but all his thoughts were clouded by reaching that voice and knowing that if he didn't do _something_ he'd surely never be able to live with himself again. If to say, he was to survive the night.

Shadows seemed to breathe along the surface of the red stained snow, lit and exaggerated by the fire of the burning Hobbit holes, and there, across what had once been the market, Bilbo could see Drogo Baggins and his dear wife Primula huddled behind a large ale barrel; Drogo was holding a small trowel and even from that distance, Bilbo could still see how his arm shook, his face horrified. Bilbo made out the dark silhouette of a sickly broad Orc fumbling forward, chucks of _something_ falling from his shoulders and legs, and the thought of what it could be left Bilbo near heaving in the snow by his feet.

"Master Baggins!" and the voice was loud and definite as it hissed in his ear, hand pulling at his arms to keep him moving, "why have you stopped? We need to _go-_ " and the utter urgency in Hamfast Gamgee's -a long time friend and gardener of the Baggins for some years now- wasn't something Bilbo found himself clinging to as much as he realized he needed to. No, he couldn't leave, not like this, and when he had said so, Hamfast snapped at him, "have you gone _mad_!?" he shouted at him, but it was far too late to try and budge Bilbo, who dislodged Hamfast's hold on him and rushed forward quite stupidly and without an ounce of thought and care for his own self preservation, reaching blindly to his flank as he yanked a rod out of the soil it had been buried in. With a sharp cry, the small creature rushed forward in a fit of fear and courage that he couldn't quite bring himself to try and regret, even as the end hit something solid and cut through with a sharp pop.

The scream that followed was deafening and made his blood recoil, but his adrenaline was rushing through his body and without a look to what he'd stabbed, his hands snapped forward and yanked his cousins from the snow and pushed their stiff bodies forward with a cry of his own. They didn't need much more prompting than that, and were soon catching up with the last of the fleeing hobbits, Bilbo close behind and shortly joined by a momentarily stunned Hamfast who regained some of his senses to follow along.

They were tracked for miles. The sound of wargs crashing through trees and the snaps of their jaws never too far behind, and the legs of the hobbits were tired and aching and a constant step away from finally giving out. Yet they had pushed onward, with horror clenching their lungs and sorrow in their hearts, reaching a few lone rangers along the way that were quite stunned for some odd amount of minutes on seeing so many hobbits so far away from home; the surprise turned to rage when Bilbo had taken the moment to explain what had happened. No one else would bare a breath to speak, not even the once mouthy Lobelia Sacksville-Baggins, her eyes distant and unfocused like much of the rest of his kin. Bilbo's breath was uneven, but the Rangers seemed to understand enough of what he was trying to say, through gasping breaths and choked sobs as the events of the night seemed to finally catch up to the fear still coursing through him.

The days following had been a blur of mourning their losses and finding families for the orphaned children. Some of the last elders were going through family tree's, trying to recount who was all lost, so they could begin preparations for the ceremonies of the dead; it was during this interval that the people of Bree had so kindly spared a few places they could stay for the time before sending them on their way, for none of the Hobbits beside a few had money, and they banded together to try and pay for extra rations that the quaint little town had given out of respect of their years in trade and the lives that had been lost.

It was in Bree when Bilbo had been approached by the elders, who had proclaimed him the heir who would surpass the late Thain, Paladin II Took, once it had come to the elders attention that him and his multiple heirs had not escaped the attack, ultimately leaving Bilbo the next in line to take his place.

"You can't be serious?" he choked, "Thain? _Me?_ "

"I'm afraid so," said the elder, Gorhendad Brandybuck, with a shake of his grey locks, "we have lost many, Master Baggins, but you are still here and they are not. It is your duty to take up where Paladin II Took had left off, dear boy."

"I'm only fifty years old!" Bilbo argued, "You and your lot have a far deal more experience than I, why can't you take it up instead? At least until I've at least been _trained_ for the spot?"

"You know that's not how it works," Gorhendad breathed, his hands going up to rest on his hips, "now you are a Baggins, and a son of Belladonna at that. When has it ever been in your blood to ever step back from a challenge?"

Bilbo didn't know what to say to that, his finger in air preparing for a retort, but something stayed his tongue. All be damned he was Belladonna and Bungo's son, and they would both be rolling in their graves if he were to deny his right. 

The announcement spread quick, and there were quite a few who felt that he was far too young to be the Thain of the Shire (even when others argued that since there no longer _was_ a Shire, that they shouldn't need a Thain anyhow) and many thought him too foolish and naive to take up the name, " _too much blood of a Took, that boy,_ " they would say, " _one reckless fool of a Took was plenty for a Thain, and now they want another?_ "

There were plenty who agreed that Bilbo didn't deserve the title, but few stood by the ways of old, and therefore, stood by the respectability of a Baggins.

"We have only just lost our home!" and to everyone's surprise, it was Hamfast who was shouting over the harsh whispers and disapproving glares, shutting up a good portion of the survivors. "It has been only mere hours, and there are already some of you speaking as if the Shire has been lost for centuries. These are the ways that we have been raised, and these are the ways we shall continue! Don't let those blundering halfwits take our way of life from us, as they had our home and our families."

"Master Gamgee," Hamfast almost didn't look in response when 'Master' was said instead of 'Mister', but the head of his family had been lost, leaving him next in line. Hamfast turned to look to Bilbo, who had approached at his flank with a soft frown and a share of his own weariness to add to the bout, "Hamfast.." words escaped him when he saw the heaviness in his gaze, weary and worn and far too old for someone so young. It hardly seemed fair that someone with so much light would have it plucked away in only moments.

"Master Baggins," Hamfast said with a determined frown, "I watched you run towards an Orc with little more than a pitchfork to save two of yer own. No other hobbit in this Yavanna forsaken crowd can say the same, aye, I can assure you that. If anyone says yer not up ta' the challenge, Master Baggins sir, I can send them right to the missus and have her give 'em a good ear twist, mark my words."

Mark them, he did, and Bilbo wasn't the only one not to take the threat lightly. Even Lobelia hadn't said two words on the matter, which was a feat in its own right, but she hasn't been saying much of anything after the loss of her son and husband; she hadn't been quite herself since the attack, but she wasn't the only struggling to come to grips with what has happened.

"You must pick advisers," one of the elders had said on their third day in Bree, "we would offer our services to you as we had done the late Old Took, however it seems that it would be best for you to take someone closer to your own age, to last you the rest of your service to you and your kin."

Bilbo didn't want to have to find advisers, he didn't want the responsibility thrust on his shoulders, and he certainly didn't want the fate of his kin on his hands either. As Thain, they would follow his every word without so much as an argument, if not question; they'd follow him where ever he would take them, because it would then be his job to keep them safe. How Paladin II Took had ever been able to do this without complaint and worry was something Bilbo could never quite comprehend; and yet, the late Thain hadn't had to rule with a tragedy under his belt. Just seven meals and a few disruptions of the peace but that was the extent.

"I could never ask that of someone," Bilbo had told them with a weary shake of the head, "that would be far to much to ask of anyone right now."

"You could always ask me," said a careful voice from just over his shoulder, giving the hobbit quite the fright.

"Drogo," Bilbo breathed, "no, I could never."

"Of course you can," and Drogo had a way of being painfully certain of himself that it sometimes reminded Bilbo of his father, and the crease between his brows with a sense of obligatory determination that even Bilbo's stubbornness couldn't deny. When Drogo had gotten that look about him when they were growing up, there was no possible way to sway him once his mind was set. "Besides, I can not have my favourite cousin, one who I owe not only my life, but the life of my sweet Primula, to do this all alone."

"I volunteer too," came another voice, and Bilbo wished he could have been surprised by his gardener stepping up with his hands planted firmly on his hips, but Hamfast Gamgee has been surprising him again and again these past few days, that Bilbo learned to never think of a Gamgee as a hobbit without an adventurous bone in their body ever again. "I promised yer late mam that I would keep an eye on you Master Baggins, and I have been keeping my word for many a year, and I do not intend to stop now, thank you _very_ much."

"Hamfast, my dear friend," if there wasn't so much already weighing on his shoulders, perhaps an exasperated fond laugh would have touched his lips, but instead he simply sounded sad. Hamfast gave him a knowing look, patting his hand reassuringly against his back.

"There would not be an ounce of respectability left if I were ta jus' let you do this with only Drogo at yer side, ya' know," Hamfast conjured a weak smile, but his eyes were a bit bright and the smile that spread on Bilbo's lips hadn't felt as forced. "Now, I could not in good conscience leave ya' to that fate, no siree, I couldn't. So it seems you're to be stuck with me, Master Baggins sir, until you've got no use for an old gardener like me."

Sometimes, when Bilbo looks back on that day, it's not often he pretends that he was able to look Hamfast and Drogo in the eye and keep his head. It had been a wonder how he had been able to hold himself together for as long as he did, and some might have thought it even pitiful that all it took was a smile and a kind word to bring him to tears; it was something so small, as his lower lip quivered and his eyes welled up with thick unshed tears, and he can still feel the heavy thickness in his throat as he swallowed down a sob, but his attempts were shown to be just as fruitless as more began to choke out. The sound was hushed but prompted for others to join in, their cries falling on deft ears, like the wind rusting against leaves and brushing a lone windchime far into a forest, where not even the bravest soul would wander.

It was the next day they were told that they'd need to venture on.

Bree could no longer house the hobbits. Even with weary hearts and heavy souls, they had to gather themselves up and prepare for travel that afternoon. Bilbo collected the rations the town had been so kind as to spare, gathering up enough money to make sure there were some spare blankets and medical supplies for the road. Drogo took care of the head count, and came back with a whomping hundred and fifty six hobbits that had survived and escaped the attack. A hundred and fifty six out of thousands. Bilbo could only hope that many of them had escaped into the forest, and were getting help elsewhere. The most he could do is hope for the best; hobbits were gentlefolk, but they were also resilient and clever when they needed to be.

All he could hope for is to find them along the way.

They traveled for days on foot. Their coats doing little to keep out the bitter cold, the ice nipping at their noses and freezing their toes. The little ones were getting sick and many a hobbit could attest to a few patches of frost bite on their knuckles and cheeks, to which Bilbo wasn't one of the lucky ones. Many of the older faunts had given up their coats and blankets to the fauntlings to secure some of the scarce warmth they had left; miles away from home, the rations began to diminish as the once comfortable gentlefolk had lowered their seven meals to a measly two in order to barely get by. They'd run out of water days ago and had been getting on by melting some of the untouched snow in their path, but there were just so many -- finding shelter was no easy feat either, and with Drogo's keen eyes, he'd been able to help Bilbo scout a little ahead and find a large enough cave that just fit everyone in almost comfortably. It was a little pinched in some cases, but they were able to start a meek fire, while the women scouted out good firewood that the fauntlings helped to dry once back inside the safety of the cave.

Bilbo never let anyone wander too far, having nearly lost a few who had collapsed from the cold within the first few days of travel. The conditions were harsh, but with enough help, they were helping each of their own on waking back up and starting on the long trek once again. The dread was heavy amongst all of them, but some worked to diminish the bitterness with a bit of song here and there, and it was good to see the fauntling's laughing along and joining in despite all else. Hamfast and his wife Bell Goodchild tended to the food and helped serve out the portions that three Took's -that had recently come of age- had been carrying with heavy packs on their backs, although, with great remorse, they'd reported they have gotten far too light for comfort in the passing days.

The nights were perhaps the hardest, thinking of little else than that of his warm bed in Bag End. He's sure he's not the only one, of course, but Bag End wouldn't be more than a pile of ash and rubble, and all of them knew they couldn't go back now. There was nothing to return to but death and ruin, and seeing as those were two things no hobbit desired, Bilbo stuck by his instincts and continued onward. Wishing he had bought a map somewhere, he did his best to navigate through the wilderness during the day, and warm up at night- the warmth, however, wasn't much and many of the gentlefolk had fallen ill.

"Just a few more days," Bilbo reassured himself, mulling over the trees in their path and prayed to the Green Lady that he was right, "just a few more days and we'll find help."

Bilbo hadn't been completely wrong, as it had been a few more hours until a dwarven caravan from the Blue Mountains had come across them by chance, and just as another hobbit had collapsed from the cold.

"What happened?" one of the tallest ones had called, jumping off of his horse and into the heavy snow.

"Our home had been attacked," Bilbo said from the ground, his hand brushing through the frozen strands in the fallen elders hair, "we've no food, or blankets, nor money. The rangers could not escort us for fear of attack on Bree." Bilbo watched with a growing sense of hope as three more dwarves jumped off of their horses, "please, can you help us?"

It was on that day that Yavanna shined her light on her children after the tragedy, and gave the hobbits a bit more of a boast in their step as the strangers offered their hospitality. The travelers had been lords that were preparing to leave the Blue Mountains and travel to the Ironhill's for reason's they would not disclose, however they were more than happy to back track and take the hobbits back to where they started, reassuring them that it was only a day away and was certainly no trouble at all. That night him and his people were given a feast fit for royals, their clothes taken for mending and replaced by thick heavy wool that warmed their very bones; their ill were tended and the night was cause for an outburst for joyous celebration.

The dwarves had been somewhat mistrusting of the hobbits at first, and many were weary of their presence. What seemed to break much of the tension were the fauntlings - especially when little Rose Cotton and Peregrin Burrows had taken notice of a dwarrow whittling away at a block of wood; the fauntlings had been so excited at the prospect of toys that they had become quite the entertainment when the healers had come for a visit, which had been a breath of fresh air for all hobbits involved to see the little ones making fun once again. Children were as precious to dwarrows as the finest gems, Bilbo had come to find, and it was the children that had the kingdom taking to them quite kindly during their stay. Even the lord that had discovered upon them had been kind enough to take care of any and all expenses, much to Bilbo's initial dismay.

"Don't worry yerself, laddie," the lord said with a rough pat to his back, "I've got plenty ta' spare, anyhow."

"I don't think I could possibly thank you enough, my lord," Bilbo said with a breathy laugh.

"Call me Garlun, halfling," the dwarf made an offhanded gesture, "seems the least I could do."

Bilbo smiled at this, despite the 'halfling' comment. Hobbits weren't daresay half of _anything_ , thank you very much, but he promptly bit his tongue out of courtesy and hesitantly gave a slight bow, "Bilbo Baggins, at your service," he raised himself with a short nod, "but please, call me Bilbo."

"Aye, Bilbo," his nod was curt, "I'd say it was a fine pleasure meetin' ya, but I wish it could'a been under better circumstance."

"Regardless, I am thankful," and he was, truly, "I do not suppose we would have lasted much longer out there, with our supplies running as thin as they were."

"Aye, but it's a fine good thing what yer doing for these people. You shire-folk have always been good to the dwarrows of Ered Luin, and it's a damn shame nobody was around to help you and yer kin." Garlun gave pause, as if reconsidering something before letting the matter drop, "the trade shall surely be missed, but the lives even more so. I'm sorry for yer losses, and the loss of the Thain."

"It's no one's fault but the Orcs," Bilbo replied a bit curtly, "besides, I believe I've been doing just fine since the position had been given to me. I have done my best so far, and to our luck, no lives have since been lost-.. after, after we left, of course."

Garlun was quiet a moment, his lips puckered but it was difficult to tell with his heavy beard in the way. "Yer friend tells me you went back into the fire."

"Was it Hamfast?" Bilbo pressed his lips in a thin line, "I have told him that bragging was unbecoming, and I _assure_ you I did not put him up to it. It would have been quite the disrespectful thing, that is, to boast about something as mad as dashing into a fight!"

"Mad? Pah!" Garlun spat, his hand's slamming against the table in good nature, "Why! That there would be a thing of great reverence among us hardy dwarrows, Master Hobbit, a fine thing indeed. To bare arms is seen as the greatest honour, and to bare arms for _kin_ \-- why it's considered _treason_ if one refuses! Punishable by lacerations, and dependin' on the outcome, even death."

"Oh dear," Bilbo glanced between him and his people. Why! It was a mighty fine thing that hobbits weren't quite so _rash_. If Hobbiton were to have used such laws, well- there wouldn't be many Hobbits left in the Shire. "Well, I daresay dwarrows and hobbits have vastly different cultures." It was a thing that, even today, Bilbo thought about with great sadness. Vastly different indeed.

"Aye," Garlun snorted, "well, I ought to be tellin' the head adviser they've got guests to look after, if not a one has spoken up already."

"You don't suppose they will mind too dearly, do you?"

"King Droic is a wise dwarf," Garlun said after a considerably long moment which had given Bilbo quite the squirm, "one of the wisest on the west side of the misty mountains."

"And what of the east?" Garlun only responded with a slight smile but said nothing on the matter, patting the hobbit a bit too roughly on the back which had sent the halfling flying a few inches forward before he was able to catch himself again. The dwarrow said little else before parting ways, promising to return with more food and perhaps news of sleeping arrangements for the time.

That night was filled with far more joy than the fretful gentlefolk had seen in what felt like an eternity. It was no Bag End, but it was warm and with the food settling in his belly, is was a place he was plenty contented with to dwell; He relaxed around the fire with some of the elders as Madoc Brandybuck and Jolly Cotton locked arms and sang a jolly drinking song that even he couldn't help but clap along to. The night was filled with more laughter and dancing than they've seen in what felt like many years, even though it had only been a few mere weeks. Once the fauntlings were tucked against their mothers or adoptive parents, and already snoring along to gentle dreams, did they finally relax against the warmth of the ever comforting flame flicking about the large intricately cut stone fireplace.

The elders spoke of the rolling green hills of the Shire, and of the sweet honey comb pastures. That night there was no mourning, other than the melancholy pauses where they allowed themselves a moment to reminiscence of lives long passed, and aching loss of their colourful round doors and laughter that used to so easily fill the clear air. They thought of their comfortable armchairs, and their collections of books, and many listened as Hamfast would recount his widely known tatters and that time a Cotton had accidentally landed in his patch. Something that had seemed so frustrating at the time, seemed so silly now that he really thought back on it.

One by one they found comfort in the warmth of borrowed clothes three sizes too big, and a welcoming heat that dethawed their poor abused toes, and soon enough, more snores joined those of the children's, until Bilbo was the last awake, alone as he stared into the fire.

It was that night when Lord Garlun had seeked him out, pulling him away from his kin with an urgency that his presence was needed at once in the Great Halls. It was there that an aging dwarrow with a creased brow and noticeable slouch approached him with a frown and escorted him to this tucked away room, and told him that his half of the treaty would soon need to be fulfilled.

"Treaty?" Bilbo asked incredulously, rubbing the back of his hand against his stuffed up nose and wishing sourly that he had brought his handkerchief, "what treaty? I was never told we had one."

"Yes, I was told of your recent plight with Orcs, Master Hobbit," and Bilbo felt a twinge of something inside of him when he remembered that this was a _King_ he was speaking to, and not one of his nosy neighbours, "I am regretful to have been informed of this after it was far too late to send in troops, although my men will be marched out to find any who survive. This is beside the point," his voice was riddled with age and wear, but Bilbo didn't miss the guilt that seemed to lace his voice, "the treaty, as it seems, was never passed down to you."

"I quite think not," Bilbo replied a tad nervously, "you see, I never believed I'd become Thain. You must understand that there were quite a few before me that would have been heirs, and so it might have seemed unnecessary to try and explain it to someone who wouldn't have needed to know it."

"And yet, here you are."

Bilbo pressed his lips together, "here I am."

King Droic gave him a thoughtful look, or so Bilbo was almost _certain_ the look had been a thoughtful one. It was rather difficult to tell with all that hair covering his face. A beat and a breath later, the king moved, reaching over to one of the nearby tables and pulled at an old looking book, with the bindings all but falling apart. The pages yellowed with age and soft from wear, large and heavy that when it was place down, it thudded impressively and the table gave a soft groan in protest; of course the table itself was already covered in tomes of sorts, but it was clear the extra weight was doing anything but help.

"Master Baggins," the king began, his voice sparking a seemingly ancient tale that weaved words of old, "Ered Luin is an ancient dwarven kingdom, as you may know. It has been around for countless generations and has seen many a war and desolation in its time. We dwarrows are hardy folk, but even the children of Mahal can find themselves in times of need. The king at the time, a great ancestor of my own, King Dwumlin, son of Daloghuth, son of Thargaek, had been at odds with a old war that had been feuding within his realm of the mountain. Goblins and Orcs by the thousands had found their way through underground passages and tunnels, and had wiped out most of the kingdom. Having already lost the great kingdom of Moria, the dwarrows were already disheartened and fearful of what was befalling their home.

"King Dwumlin had been in war for the lives of his people for many years, but in such dire times of need, only so many could risk the lives of their own kin for a losing battle. For a time, many believed the great mountain of Ered Luin would soon be lost. At least, until the homely gentle folk of the west had come." King Droic brushed his hand over the binding absently, "as the stories told, the creatures had picked up arms. The reasons for this are not documented, and are therefore an uncertainty among my people, but there are few who believe that King Dwumlim's beloved had been one of the hobbits who had taken up arms. Though who they had been or what of their fate, it is unknown- but many a hobbit and dwarrow spilled blood side by side, the battle only lasting a mere three days once they had given the kingdom their oath. In the years following, they had spared my people and the people of my ancestors food and healers to which they had gained the debt of all dwarrows. Taking up arms with our kin had granted those brave hobbits the title as ally of dwarrow kind, but most importantly, the ever cherished friend of the dwarrows of Ered Luin.

"Originally the treaty had been created to ensure the protection of hobbits if they were ever in need of such. To extend the hand my ancestors could only wish to give, to those who have done nothing but serve along side as life long allies to these mountains, and for this, Master Hobbit, is what we are extending to you now." King Droic pushed open the heavy tome with little effort, the thick cover slamming heavily over the table top, kicking up dust and causing the hobbit to sneeze, "For the protection your ancestors have given ours, we intend to make sure you have the same. Yet, seeing as we have failed our side of the treaty, allowing destruction and death to fall unto our most valued allies, I call our pledge to the hobbits of Hobbiton to be fulfilled at this time. However," his voice slowed, lowering to a steady thrum, "the original script had been altered after the second battle of Moria, and had been revised numourous times over the years to ensure safe passage as the times develop, Master Hobbit."

"That sounds wonderful, actually," Bilbo would have never believed that story if it had been another hobbit saying so. Yet, with a dwarven king being the one to claim such a ridiculous notion, he found he could see nothing but the truth. Hobbits willingly going into battle? Why, if he hadn't done so himself, he would have never guessed them to be so brave, "it's more than we could ever hope to ask for. But please, your majesty, do not feel responsible for what has happened. They swept in quietly during the night, there was little to be done, and there is no one to blame than that Orcs that had taken our homes away."

King Droic looked at him for moments uncounted by time, as if he was seeing the halfling in a different light, "you are a humble creature, Master Hobbit," his voice sounded quieter, and for the first time since the king had begun speaking, he could hear the guilt in his voice, "Mahal have mercy on those who doubt the strength of hobbits."

Bilbo was able to accomplish a small smile at the king, "thank you, your majesty," he allowed after a breath, "you are doing my kin and I and great service."

"Do not thank me," said the king with a carefully measured wave, "for you do not know what you accept."

"By dwarven law, we can only protect those of kin," he began with a slow huff, "and those we've fought along side in battle; which does not fair well for battle of old, and no longer apply to our dire situation. Allies we can protect for a time, but the care is limited and although dwarrows are not cruel creatures, we're suspicious of outsiders, and prefer our isolation. You must understand that as things change, these laws engraved into our very souls by Mahal himself, we can do nothing about.

" _Our ancestors, clever things they were. For they found a loophole in order to ensure the safety of your kin._ "

"Master Baggins?" a soft tuff of curly mahogany hair peeked over the finely curved stone archway that lead to the hobbits bedroom, moving out of the way of a few dwarrows working quickly on the finishing touches of said hobbits outfit. Bilbo blinked away his thoughts, glancing over to Hamfast who was still looking quick and unsure of himself, wearing nicely tailored dwarven robes that was perhaps a little too tight on the middle and bit broad on his shoulders; ' _It's only proper, Master Baggins. I'd hate to stand out_ '.

"Hamfast," Bilbo breathed, "please, how many times must I insist you call me Bilbo? I'd hope you'd be a little less formal on my-" the words died off in his throat, his eyes falling away from the hobbit and back to the tips of his toes. Bilbo hadn't heard the soft shuffle of feet until he felt a hand rest on his arm and give a soft squeeze. The reassurance did nothing to improve his mood, as he had been fighting back tears for the past hour now, and the simple gesture almost had him weeping again.

"I had..-" Hamfast paused, mulling over his words, "I had asked the royal adviser, if I could give you away," Bilbo couldn't stop the weak gasp that fell from his lips, trying to stiffen them to prevent his tears from spilling, "Balin, his name was, had admitted he didn't know what that was. Can you believe that? After a few hasty explanations, he seemed ta agree. You won't have to be alone up there, Master Baggins. No siree, me and ol' Drogo will be by yer side, or at least as close as they'll let us."

Bilbo hadn't thought to give a reply, and was given quite the start when he felt a finger brush underneath his eye, wiping away the wetness that had begun to freely fall.

"It's not fair," Bilbo heard himself say, wiping the back of his hand furiously against his cheeks, "I never.. I never got the chance to pick him flowers, you know? I never got the chance to pick him flowers."

Hamfast said nothing, letting his hands fall to his sides.

"I've never even met him," his laugh was hallow, "I'm getting married and I don't even know his face."

"He's got a mighty name on him, though," Hamfast replied idly, turning to glance about the room that Bilbo had been given upon their arrival to Erebor. The rest of the Hobbits have been given three separate large quarters that could house an entire army quite comfortably, and then some. "Thorin Oakenshield. I hope he's as good a spouse as he is a king."

Bilbo had wondered that too.

The wedding had been set a date the month after the hobbits had stepped foot into the Lonely Mountain; after having gotten over their initial surprise at its vastness, Bilbo found himself taken away from his group and placed in a far too large room, and was quickly sized. The days that followed were filled with quiet dwarrows who didn't know what to say to him, and kind tailors who were mindful of his feet and actually asked what he felt he would prefer to wear. ' _None of them_ ' but he had a treaty to fulfill, and if he can give his fellow hobbits a home for the rest of the cold bleary winter, and all the winters to come, then so be it.

Maybe one day, they'll be able to safely venture back to the rolling hills and homely west, but that day is in the far future, and they're still missing quite a few hobbits. Twenty had been found just last week, by the far coast, and many if not most were gravely ill. Yet once they've gotten better, they were to be sent to Erebor to join their kin.

"Master Hobbit," the two were startled out of their thoughts when a voice came filtering from the doorway, and at the sight of the dwarrows still face, dread began to rear its ugly head in his heart, "it is time."

Bilbo found he could not respond in words, and simply nodded, looking towards his good friend who could only gift him a gentle smile, holding out his arm for his Thain to take. They hadn't made it down the hall completely just yet, when Drogo came running down as quick as his legs could carry, calling for them to ' _just wait a wee moment, please, and thank you very kindly-!_ ' catching up to them with a heavy gasp for air and a good natured smile on his lips.

"Drogo, shouldn't you be standing with Primula?" Bilbo asked, but Drogo shot him a bright smile, shaking his head.

"She understands." It was as simple as his dimpled grin and holding out and arm for the one that Hamfast hadn't already taken, allowing Bilbo to take it with a weak smile.

"Thank you," he murmured, looking on with increasing sorrow as the dwarrow lead them to the grand halls where the celebration was to take place. "The both of you, for everything that you've done for me."

"You're doing all of us quite the favour, Bilbo," Drogo said with a slight frown, "you're giving up a happy life to make sure we eat at night with a _mountain_ over our heads. It might not be the Shire, but it's more than we could have ever ask of you. I daresay that you've even gotten _Lobelia's_ tongue in a twist! Can't seem to say a bad word about you without looking mighty guilty afterwards. Quite the feat, if I say so myself."

"Oh do be kind to her," Bilbo murmured kindly, "she lost quite a deal, with both her husband and son, and after the whole fit, I do believe we've settled that feud."

"I apologize Bilbo," Drogo nodded along apologetically, "I shouldn't say such things, and on your wedding day no doubt! I hear there is a supposed to be a grand feast for seven days after in celebration."

"I don't know, Drodo," Bilbo's expression became pinched, "due to the.. the arrangements. It might be different."

"I'll say," Drogo snorted, "you should have heard Primula earlier, quite distraught, you see. When she had snuck a peak at the decorations, she could not find a _single_ flower. Not a one! She had given one of the decorators a piece of her mind at the prospect, but they didn't seem to pay her much mind other than assuring her there wasn't a thing they could do. 'Codswallop!' she said, and rightly so. What hobbit doesn't have flowers at their wedding?"

What hobbit, indeed.

Their conversation became hushed before silencing altogether, their feet shuffling to the large entrance where Bilbo could hear the soft chattering of voices just along the way. Shouts and cheers and all sorts of excited murmurs; which, Bilbo couldn't blame- this would be the first time he'd stand in front of the public eye, and he's sure that perhaps many of them either do not know what a Hobbit actually was, or were simply there for the promise of a celebration.

 _Their king is getting married,_ Bilbo reminded himself sadly, _and they're excited to meet the Consort_. If only his mother could have been here.

Either way, it did nothing to sate his nerves, and once the guard had reached the station, waving a thick hand to prevent the hobbits from walking any further, he made a quick signal to someone that the hobbits couldn't quite see, and loudly, moments later, booming music permeated the air. It was deep and guttural and nothing like the quick and silly fiddle and flutes of the Shire. All noise ceased as the dwarrows settled into their seats, and it was then that the dwarrow approached him.

"Remember," he said carefully, if not kindly, "you two," he gestured between Drogo and Hamfast, "when you reach the spot where the steps move up, do'n go up follow up. That is where you will bid yer friend farewell and move to yer seats. Master Baggins," he turned his head towards him, and with a short breath, gave him a reassuring nod, "do not forget that you must keep yer head bowed, and cannot look at your intended until the vows have been spoken, watch your step, and when you walk back down, you stay two paces behind him on his left side."

"Why's that?" Drogo asked, although the dwarrows seemed only vaguely inconvenienced by it.

"The king is right handed," he stated, "it's so he can push his intended behind himself while drawing his sword to keep him safe under the assumption of an attack."

"Oh, well that's nice," Hamfast replied rather loftily, as if the thought never occurred to him, "there was a lot less to worry about in the Shire, you know. Less assassinations, and more friendly competition."

"Hardly friendly." Drogo mused.

The dwarrow straightened himself and gave a short nod, "the best of luck to you, Master Baggins," he lifted himself, "you're certainly going to need it." With that, he was gone.

The feeling of dread felt like a thick lump in his belly, causing his legs to feel weak and was thankful for his friends assistance in keeping him upright. They stood there a moment, not quite sure what to do until soft music began playing, low and deep and unnervingly real when Bilbo had caught up to his senses and took the first step. Drogo and Hamfast were right behind, but their steps were a bit more leisured, slow, and appropriate for such an occasion.

"That's him," Drogo whispered in his ear, but Bilbo kept his eyes firmly on his feet.

"What's he look like?" he whispered back, but Drogo seemed to be at a loss of words.

"Not what I would have expected," it was Hamfast this time, "certainly not what I thought."

Fear crept into his core, but he kept his shoulders straight and counted his breathing, hearing the soft murmurs of the crowd as he walked down the aisle. It seemed to go on for miles, but sooner than he would have liked, he felt the arms that had been looped around his own, release themselves from his shaking grasp. Hamfast turned Bilbo to him first, pressing a hand against his cheek and drawing his vision up to look at him. Bilbo saw his soft smile, and it seemed so untainted and unworried about everything that Bilbo could only smile back, reaching his own hand forward to cup his friends cheek before leaning forward and brushing noses.

Drogo was next, placing his hand on Bilbo's shoulder and turned him around to face him, using the opposite hand that Hamfast had used, to then cup the opposite cheek. They repeated the gesture from before, their noses brushing gently as a sort of goodbye, letting their hands fall back to their sides with little words to be said. The hobbits moved to either of his sides, allowed him to re-bow his head.

"I, Drogo Baggins, release you in place of your father."

His breath felt rapid, eyes looking at the intricately carved stone at his feet, but found he couldn't allow himself the moment to admire it. His hands felt sweaty and shaky, throat tight and constricted.

"I, Hamfast Gamgee, release you in place of your mother."

Bilbo didn't need to see their feet retreating in order to force his right one forward.

 _Wrong, wrong this is all wrong,_ his stomach lurched, _I don't want to do this, Yavanna, please don't make me._

Step, one after the other, his stomach falling further and further into his belly, and it was too soon when he saw the platform, smooth and just as intricately carved and cared for as every work of art in the mountain. Bilbo found himself thinking little and little of the handiwork of dwarves when he finally saw a pair of boots standing where his betrothed would be. His heart was in his throat, ears burning, and feeling weak. Deliriously, he was somewhat surprised at the lack of cane; _they'd had said he was some hundred years old, surly his walking stick is about?_ His thoughts interrupted at the sound of his _intended_ parting his lips to speak.

His words were the furthest thing from his mind.

 _He sounded like caves so deep the end could never be found,_ he thought, strangely enough, _like the quiet of night after a gentle rain, and the warmth of a mug between chilly palms on a cozy autumn afternoon._

Like the rumble of thunder, crackling in his voice with a certainty unwavering as a lightning strike through heavy clouds against stone. His thoughts stuttering to a complete stop when he felt rough hands brush over his cheek, yet he forced his gaze to continue their unwavering stare at the other's feet, the fingers brushing over the roundness of his cheek just before his ear, and soon the gentle touch moved to his hair; the feeling was mechanical as deft fingers braided the sliver of his honey locks and with a pause in his voice, the king held something high for all to see. Bilbo was only barely listening when his intended explained what was to happen; a bead, he had said, created by his own hand as tradition, to represent his intended, and to show all to whom his betrothed belonged.

Bilbo wondered how the king had taken the news of being forced into a matrimony. He wondered if they'd ever speak, or if their marriage would be little more than a title, where they were simply living in similar quarters but never a word passed between. Bilbo mourned the loss of a proper courting, mourning the lazy mornings where his fingers could brush through hair and adjust the flowers they had forgotten to remove the night before. The sorrow filling his chest at never having the chance to even have a dance with his intended, a not a single flower to boot. Never had he the worry of introducing his love to his family for the first time, nor made him his first courting meal. All these things he lost the moment the Orcs came to his home and were stripped from him with every passing hour at the loss of what could have been.

Thorin had lost the chance to a proper courting as well, Bilbo thought sadly; Thorin never had a chance to fall in love and start a family, as his duty of being the king, all his simple pleasures had been taken away from him too, and Bilbo wondered of the king's outrage at being forced to marry a hobbit.

The rage, however, wasn't in his intended's voice when the bead was woven into the braid, but his words sounded stiff and rehearsed to the hobbit's ears. Strangely enough, when the dwarrow's hand fell away, Bilbo found himself missing the contact, but followed his intended's lead and turned his body to face the crowd, raising his head to look onward into the vast hall. Fear clenched the hobbits heart; never had he seen so many people in one place at once.

"I, Thorin, King under the Mountain, take Bilbo Baggins of the Shire as my Consort."

"And I," Bilbo steered his voice from cracking, licking his dry lips, "Bilbo Baggins, Thain of the lost hills, take Thorin Oakenshield, King under the mountain, as my betrothed."

One after the other, Bilbo watched as dwarrows began marching up from the first row, to give congratulations, while on the other side, the hobbits went to Thorin to give their blessings. It was only proper to show that the families approved of the match; and one after the next, Bilbo was introduced to Thorin's family, even before he's seen the others face.

Dis stepped up first, falling into a stiff bow and gave her congratulations. She looked angry, but something in her posture seemed to melt when she saw his face, whether is was the sorrow he was trying to hide or perhaps something else she had noted that gave her pause. After a moment she nodded to him, moving to take her spot a few paces behind the Consort. The few members that represented his own family stood a few paces behind the king, their eyes forward but trying to sneak glances to Bilbo when they could.

After Dis was the youngest brother, Frerin, who introduced himself with a kind smile, seemingly less stiff in his congratulations than his sister previous. There was a grace in his posture and quirk in his lips, before swiftly joining Dis at her side. Next was the heir of the mountain, Fili, who gave a quick bow and moved to stand by Frerin. Then was Kili, who seemed far more relaxed, shooting him a bright smile as he bowed and welcomed him to the family. Then was the adviser and his brother, Balin and Dwalin, who bowed side by side.

Once the last of the hobbits that Bilbo had chosen as his closest kin had finished their own blessings, Thorin took a step forward and announced the celebrations to begin. The shouts that erupted were loud and lively, as the crowd burst into an uproar of cheer. Music and laughter was being passed around, but Bilbo couldn't find it in himself to share in their cheer, and when his intended- his _husband_ turned to look at him, Bilbo found he could not reach his gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is said that the Shire is approximately 20,000 square miles (35% of England, which is no small size) and doing a bit of research, I'd say that there were a good few thousand of hobbits in their midst. A lot of bad can happen to quite the population, but there's also a lot of room to escape; keep that in mind. - Again, this story was self beta'd, and if you notice any serious mistakes, please let me know. Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed. ^^


	2. Anemone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for all the comments and kudo's, and even though I may not be replying to all of them, I appreciate every single one. I intend for this story to have a bit of length to it, and I'm glad that many of you seem to be prepared for the long run; Also, again, poorly beta read by your's truly (If there is anything prominently wrong with a sentence, please let me know and I'll go back in and fix it) Thank you all again, and I hope you enjoy. ^^
> 
> Anemone: Fading hope, and the feeling of having been forsaken.

The feast that followed was nothing short of vast, brilliantly loud, and overtly busy.

Stretching from one corner to the next, with tables filled to the brim with both food and dwarves with little room for their plates to sit. The heavy clatter and thud of moving chairs scooting and tossed about to make space for more, covering what little room they had until the tables creaked and groaned against the weight. The move from the Throne Room to the Feast Hall had been a feat all on its own, but the cheer was premeditating the air and the celebration was in their spirits and Bilbo had never had so many people happily bowing to him left and right. Yet he couldn't imagine stomaching any of this food, or find comfort in any of the offered conversation drifting his way. His brow felt heavy from the thin Circlet adorning his curls, even though the piece was particularly made to be light. It was the weight of it's significance that was wearing him down, the status that it held for him, and despite all of it's beauty, he wanted nothing more than to remove it from his head. Wishing to tear it off and give it to whom his spouse would truly desire to wear it, than have it on the head of someone he'd claim to be a complete stranger.

Bilbo usually enjoyed a well served celebration, but the cheer around him felt falsely provoked, for a union that was anything but wanted. His hand strayed up to touch the bead in his hair, but stopped just a breath away and forced his hand back to his lap; it seemed ridiculous to grow sentiment for such a thing, all things considered that it came to be from obligations rather than from love, and decided it was best to ignore the weight just before his ear. Instead he shifted his focus to the food growing cold in front of him, mostly untouched besides the pointless shuffling around. Bilbo heard as familiar laugh a few tables away, glancing up and over to see several tables filled with his kin, laughing and making merry, the only thing missing from the toasting was perhaps the lack of two or three hobbits dancing about on the table tops, kicking off plates and bowls of food alike to make room for their feet.

As Consort, he wasn't allowed to join his kin in the merrymaking. Instead he was to be placed with his spouse's family, considered the dominate of the two since it was the King's family, and therefore the family that Bilbo was supposed to be making an effort to know. But Bilbo found his voice lacking, and any curiosity he felt towards them in the beginning wasn't his utmost concern when he can see Odo Proudfoot making wild gestures, and couldn't help but wonder if he was talking about the incident with the three horses and barrel of ale with that Brandybuck girl stuck in a tree. ' _Third time that week!_ ' Bilbo could almost hear him say, ' _and it's a wonder she was able to keep her aim!_ '

While there seemed to be much cheer over where his family strayed, his own table seemed oddly quiet besides the two princes, who were in the middle of trying to explain to their mother some odd thing or another, while she only seemed to be half listening. Thorin and Dis hadn't said so much as a word, while Frerin had been kind to try and keep Bilbo apart of any conversation that were to pop up, explaining things here and there, and Balin seemed just as inclined to assist. Dwalin was just as silent as the elder Durins, and the table had an abundance of other dwarrows that Bilbo hadn't had the chance of introduction.

It didn't matter of course, because he didn't have the option to stay very long either way.

Bilbo barely had time to finish his first plate, which he had been struggling to even lift his fork to let alone taste it with all the chattering in his ears, when he had felt the tug at the hip of his trousers. Startled, he just barely kept himself from jumping, having been so abruptly pulled from his thoughts to glance down and see a pair of warm brown eyes looking up at him brightly.

"Bilbo," Primrose smiled, her eyes crinkling at the sides, her face worn but her expression anything but. Her hair was up in a bow, fastened by the ribbon her beloved had given her from her first courting bouquet; the ribbon a lovely shade of blue, like frosty Centaurea Cyanus, as was the shade of a Baggins family ribbon, that complimented her greying silver hair. So, while Primrose was a Gamgee, and Gardener by trade, she had bestowed her beloved, a miss Eglantine Baggins, with the shade of Mahogany as was her surnames traditional colour.

Everyone was wearing one. The courted and married women fastening it in their hair as bows, while the men have theirs weaved around their necks, and the unbonded have theirs, respectfully, tied about their wrists. Bilbo thought it an absolute wonder how anyone had been able to salvage the ribbons at _all_ after the attack, as he himself had been forced to leave his own on his bedside in Bag End, but he supposed it wasn't so surprising. Many of the lads would keep it in their breast pocket for good luck, while the lasses would fasten them about their clothes so they could never misplace them. Bilbo always kept his in the innermost pocket of his vest, but since it had been nightfall and he had no place left to rush off to, he thought it wise to put it away; silly, that it would be the day he takes it off his person, would also be the the day he'd lose it forever. Sometimes he still found himself subconsciously reaching for it before he'd remember- he'd had it since his coming of age, and Bilbo knew better than most, that old habits were ones left difficult to break.

He regretted not grabbing a few things that day, before having left his comfortable hobbit hole. Like his father's old pipe, for instance, or his mother's old journal and his handkerchief. However those were simple things he could regret another time. Bilbo shook at the thoughts until they were just an ache buried somewhere in the back of his mind.

Primrose rested her hand on his shoulder, which was a rather difficult feat considering the angle, but she never ceased to surprise. "Come, join your family. It's tradition to have one last meal with kin before branching off so soon, I cannot imagine your father would be too _pleased_ with you away from us all." She spoke lightly, but the underlying message was there anyhow. ' _You look miserable, and I have come to help_.'

"I do not believe my father would be quite pleased with a great deal of things," Bilbo mused, making to slip off his seat, but before his feet could even brush over the floor, a hand snapped over and snagged his arm. The strength of it surprised the hobbit who found himself being pushed back into his seat, his shoulder hitting the stone of his chair with a sharp crack. Bilbo bit down a cry of pain, attempting to pry his arm away from the grip with an angry shout.

"Where do you think you're going?" It was Frerin, who hushly hissed under his breath, looking at the hobbit with a startling urgency that Bilbo found himself at quite the lack of words, despite the anger biting at his tongue. He yanked his arm free from the others grasp, more out of self preservation than anything else; Frerin was strong, but it was clear he hadn't intended for his grip to be that tight, or perhaps to even cause him pain but what was done was done.

"If you _must_ know, which I doubt, I intend to join my kin," Bilbo said briskly, attempting to push from his seat again, when Frerin prevented him from moving. The hobbit sighed, patience running dangerously thin after the day he had had. "I will _only_ be a table away, I do not understand why you are acting so-"

"It's considered a grave insult to seat away from your other half during the ceremonies," he cut in quickly, his voice careful and apologetic, "I understand that you are not accustom to our ways, but I'd like to prevent any miscommunication among the people if I can."

Bilbo made a frustratingly pathetic sound at that, glancing between the faces that were now directed at him, pointedly not looking to the dwarf at his flank where he can feel sharp eyes digging into him. He glanced back to Primrose who was looking upset and indignant for his sake, causing him to feel all the worse; he can't even enjoy a meal with his family without repercussions. When he had first stepped into the halls of dwarves, he knew that they were culturally different from hobbits, but he never knew just _how_ different they truly were. It made his stomach twist at the notion.

"Surely they will understand that I am not of your culture?" Bilbo pleaded quietly, "that it is simply how Hobbit's are?"

Frerin looked at him, but Bilbo was already expecting the slight shake of the mans light coloured locks. "You are a foreigner in our halls," he gave somberly, "you are, as of the moment you gave your vows, now under strict watch of the delegates of Erebor. You will be held accountable, Master Baggins, for every action you take from here on out."

"Then let me be accountable!" Bilbo could feel his temper rising, though he loathed to start some sort of scene at his own wedding. "Not a single one of you came to meet me before the wedding, and instead you-you send your adviser and a _guard_ -" Frerin had the decency to look guilty, "I know nothing about any of you, besides your names -which had been given to me _by_ said adviser, who then _refused_ to tell me anything about you and your lot- I am _clueless_. Do you not understand that? I know nothing of you, your culture, or of your laws, and yet here I am, put into a position with which I am to _enforce_ them!"

"Bilbo-" Primrose tried, but Bilbo waved her off.

"No. I need to say this, and they need to hear it," he snapped, but Primrose looked more resigned than hurt, "I have- I have given too.. too _much_ than I have to give. My culture was stripped and so goes the land with it! I have revoked my right to tradition the moment I stepped into these halls, and I have come to grips with that. However I am _fed up_ , to be rather bold, with decisions being made without my consulting, and I never agreed to have every choice of mine to be taken away! So, I am going to cause a disruption among your people if I so desire, because what on the Green Lady's earth are they going to do? Decide I am out of the ordinary? Considering I am a hobbit, it does not seem as if they are going to think any worse of me if I decide to sit with my family for a simple meal." Bilbo huffed, frowning, "really, if it bothers you so much, I can come back right after! No trouble at all!"

Frerin looked ready to protest when another voice stole the words from his lips and altered them.

"Give?" Bilbo snapped his attention to Lady Dis, who was looking at him with a sneer of disgust, "What could a _gentlefolk_ -" she spat the word out as if it were a vile curse not worthy to kiss the floor she walked on, "-such as yourself have given that you could not?" she asked, but worded as a demand that she gave him no time to answer, "what was so horrible? Giving up the flowers or was it the garden? Can't handle the idea of not being the center of attention simply because you've been arranged to marry the king? You have not earned the right to walk the halls of our ancestors let alone the title of Consort, and even less the hand of my brother. Yet here you are, hurt over petty squabbles of- of _loss_ -" she hissed, "when you know of no such thing."

Bilbo felt cold at her words. As if having been splash by frozen waters that filled up his lungs and clenched up his chest and stiffened his belly. He could hear Primrose sputtering, but she seemed just as lost as he was on what to say; she claimed he didn't understand loss, but why else would he have come if not for the desolation of the Shire? Did she not consider the thousands slaughtered in their homes as a most devastating loss? Of the fauntling's taken from their parents, the families burned in their Smials and hunted like rabbits out of their lands?

She must have misinterpreted the ill expression on his face, cheeks pale with the tips of his ears burning, as embarrassment rather than horror, because it wasn't long after his silence had stretched that she scoffed, "The halfling cannot even defend his actions," the word ' _pathetic_ ' was heavy in the air and felt confident enough in her tone that she felt she need not say it, "so why _are_ you here, _halfling_? If it's so miserable to live under the great mountain, then why did you travel so far from your cozy little home to do the exact thing you despise? Was it for the title? The riches of one of the wealthiest kingdoms upon Middle Earth?" her voice lowered furiously, "Did you come here to _mock_ us-"

"That's _enough_." The bellow was sharp and sudden, and made his blood run cold. It even surprised Lady Dis enough that her mouth snapped shut, though her brows rose and knitted together in clear irritation. It did nothing for her own sake, as the speaker continued with a voice as sharp as a blade and as hard as stone, "I will not have you speak to my Consort any less than you would to speak to me. It is _my_ honour to welcome him to our home with pride. His business within the mountain is of no one's concern but his own, and as your king I would deem it wise to leave it as such."

The table had grown silent, though the merrymaking and celebrations hadn't ceased despite the clear dissonance that's festered at the head of the hall.

The tension was suffocating, the silence about the table was painfully loud and evident against the laughter that sounded so distant now. A hand touched his arm, frightening the hobbit but he made no notion to move away. It felt anything but comforting, like a weight was pressed against him to remind him that he wasn't the bachelor from Bag End anymore, reminding him of the weight against his brows in the form a Circlet that his curls twisted around. It felt more like the mountain he resided under was crushing down against his body rather than using its vast size to protect him; if the braid in his hair were shackles, then the bead would be the prison ball that prevented him from moving. From leaving, or going home. Thorin spoke lowly, quiet enough for just his ears alone, and Bilbo could feel the gentle heat of his breath against his cheek when he spoke, "You're free to move where you wish, Master Baggins." Thorin said softly, and the chilled tone from before was all but missing, "If you wish to dine with your kin, then you are free to do so."

Even without the cold edge, there still wasn't the warmth of a husband in those words but rather permission from a king. Bilbo didn't appreciate having to gather permission in the lightest, and suddenly enjoying a meal with his family didn't sound as appealing anymore than it had. He thought of just simply leaving, and wondered if anyone would try and stop him. Bilbo found that he didn't care; He didn't even care where he would run off too, or whether or not he'd become lost, as long as he was as far away from this place as possible. Maybe his feet would take him back home, back to the hills and the round coloured doors, back to the clear bright skies and the grassy marketplace, back to where the tree's sang in the wind and where his books lay dormant along dustless shelves. Maybe they would lead him someplace where nobody would know his face or recognize his name, and the thought was strangely comforting.

"I believe I have somewhere I need to be." Bilbo said instead of a thanks, looking away from the table where his gaze had strayed. Turning to glance as Primrose who looked at him with concern, "If you need me, I'll be.. somewhere else." With that, he slid off his seat, this time with no resistance from Frerin to stop him. Primrose looked ready to follow, but Bilbo shook his head and muttered something to her under his breath. It was only moments later that he made his way out of the Feast Hall without so much as a 'by your leave'. Primrose seemed hesitant, as if debating on whether or not to leave him be as he desired, or give him the company he so desperately needed, but before she put one foot forward, she got a look upon her face. It was a brief flash of something indescribable, and vanished just as quickly as it had come. Primrose spent a moment watching his retreating form, clearly having decided something, before rushing towards the direction of the hobbits on the other side of the room.

Thorin watched him leave out the large doors, but didn't miss the quick push of his feet at what looked like the beginnings of a sprint the moment his head was out of that door. Thorin's food going cold long before he finally pushed away from the table.

  
  


"You are a fool, Thorin."

Thorin said nothing as he pushed his way through the heavy doors leading to his personal quarters. After the celebration had calmed to a steady pulse of free laughter, it seemed pointless for him to stay around and watch as his subjects become impaired off mead and good stories. His absence wouldn't be questioned, due to his status as king - it's understood that he still has a kingdom to run, recent marriage or no. Truth be told however, he wasn't needed anywhere, but he had never taken much to larger celebrations without feeling the strain of his crown upon his shoulders. With eyes watching, following him at every turn, waiting for him to slip up and give those Mahal forsaken delegates something to splay out and use against him.

Although no one but his immediate family knew, he didn't have duties for the extent of the celebrations as they're played out day by day. The kingdom thinks he's busy, but truly, all he wanted was a moment of peace from the events of the day. Having to work the past months to throw together a quick celebration that would reach the standards expected of a royal wedding, all without having met his arranged betrothed. Despite this, he still had his everyday duties to attend to; hearings, arrangements, settling the dispute in Mirkwood after an incident in Dale. With the sudden abruptness of a marriage thrown on him to build on top of an already stacking pile of worries, he was simply grateful to have his siblings at his hip to support and assist him in every way they could.

Dis, as Thorin had both anticipated and resented, had been most vocal on exactly how she felt about the whole arrangement, and never gave the vagueness of the letter sent by King Droic all those months ago any rest. 

"How could he expect you to respect a treaty you know nothing about?" Dis had yelled at him, "we don't even know what treaty you are _honouring_!"

It didn't matter, at least not to Thorin. His honour was something he would never put in question, especially with their kin in Ered Luin. King Droic has been nothing but loyal to the dwarrows of the Lonely Mountain, and if one of his greatest dwarven allies had requested he honour an Age old treaty, even if the content was unknown to him, he would trust his allies and accept as such. Dis hadn't been too pleased at the prospect, especially once it became apparent that there were a few hundred coming to Erebor to reside for an unknown amount of time, and even more livid when she found out he was to marry a complete stranger.

She hadn't let a day go by without finding some fault in the whole scheme; "What even _is_ a hobbit?", "It's unheard of to go past the year's of courting that a marriage such as this would take.", "How do we know this ' _hobbit_ ' isn't some harpy looking for riches and royalty?"

Thorin would be a liar if he said he hadn't thought about these things when he had first received the letter. He wondered who it was he was supposed to marry, and many nights he found no comfort in dreams as they were haunted by questions on what was to happen in the months to come. He thought of the bead lying dormant in the box he had received it in during his Coming of Age; the bead he was given to carve out of love to bestow to his intended, rather than out of regal necessity. He thought of the courting bead that lie beside it, and how it will never be used.

He received no comfort as he sent word to bring those of gentle nature to the Mountain, as his questions of why and who were left unanswered. It wasn't until the caravan had finally arrived upon Erebor's doorstep multiple months later did he finally learn a name, and with that the gender of his betrothed. A Master Bilbo Baggins, Thain of the Shire far off over the Misty Mountains and burrowed far into the homely West.

Thorin had wished that perhaps knowing his name would sedate his worries, but it only seemed to make them worse. Why would a Thain from the rolling hills find themselves in a treaty that would marry them to a King across Middle Earth? A hobbit to a dwarf? Balin wasn't having any more luck than he was, as he couldn't get any answers from the dwarrows who had lead the hobbits to the Gates, and none seemed too willing to comply with gossip; their mouths sealed tightly on the matter. The dwarrows of Ered Luin had never been hesitant to discuss matters concerning the Blue Mountains, but there seemed to be a great deal of shame and guilt that followed his kin from the West that he eventually left the topic be.

Once they had begun their departure back to Ered Luin, was when he'd sent his own advisers to find out exactly why the hobbits were in Erebor and why the wedding seemed all too important. Unfortunately, all that he had sent had received in turn were varying descriptions of rolling hills and some Gamgee's pride of their tomato's. The topic was as avoided as the plague, and while his duties caught up with him, he began to grow less concerned over ill intents from the hobbits, but rather grew curious as to what had caused so many to migrate east. From the things he's heard, they seemed quite happy back in Hobbiton, content to farm and garden all day long without a care in the world, it seemed strange that they'd leave so suddenly.

While his curiosity over the matter never faded (even now) he found himself thinking less of the 'why' and more one the 'who'. Wondering absently and idly over his intended to whom he had never spoken a word, let alone seen. From what he's gathered, he had curly hair, large fuzzy feet, and was seemingly only three feet tall; yet, once he had been standing on the elevated platform crafted by his ancestors and kept by his kin, bestowing his eyes on his betrothed for the very first time, Thorin realized in quiet awe that no brief assessment of him ever did the gentlehobbit any justice. 

Nobody bothered to describe to him how soft his curls looked, or that they were honey threaded and touched by the warm light of the early evening when the sun was beginning to dip under the horizon. There wasn't a breath of his sunkissed cheeks where freckles had blossomed where a beard there was none; not a word of the shape of his ears, elvish in nature but broad and delicate as the ends, with his sweeping strands of gold woven hair resting along his cheeks and just faintly brushing along the crook of his neck. Thorin had watched, dumbfounded, as the small creature stepped forward with his head bowed and arms looped between two other hobbits who stood with him with solemn expressions. Closer to mourning than what would be considered appropriate for a wedding.

It was as the hobbit ascended the sweeping stairwell, approaching him with small tentative steps, that Thorin realized perhaps he wasn't the only one not entirely pleased with their arrangement. Yet, the words flowed easily from his mouth with practiced ease, and once the bead he had carved for this moment was in his hand, he was gifted the pleasure of feeling those gentle locks as he threaded the mithril into a formal fashion, careful with every silky strand, and soon rewarded with the first moment of hearing his intended's voice.

Like the trickle of water down a lazy stream, and the puff of smoke from an old pipe at the late hours of night with the fireplace crackling at his feet. He sounded like a birds gentle song, and the breeze rustling through a valley of tree's; like spring rain, and cold autumn mornings, with heavy books with the ink all smeared. Thorin decided he also sounded the way honey tasted, sweet against his tongue.

Even now it was a lingering thing in the back of his mind, even as his sister's voice was a prominent force that littered through the air, forcing his focus and his attention.

"You are a fool and a coward, and I'm astounded you allowed this to go as far as it has," Dis continued, her voice a sharp growl as her lips twisted into a disgusted sneer, "I had hoped you'd see reason and revoke this.. this _promise_ you made to King Droic, but it seems to me that you're as unreasonable as he is."

"The King of Ered Luin is a wise dwarf," Thorin snapped, tugging off his heavy tunic as he did so, "I would have you remember the sacrifices he has made for our kingdom. Do not forget that he gave our people a home after Erebor had been lost, as he had so willingly spared soldiers to get it back from the Orcs."

Dis winced at this. They both knew well of the sacrifices the King that ruled over the Blue Mountain's had made for Erebor all those years ago; the attack has been as sudden as it was swift. Tunnels miles long breached the underground of the mountain, and the kingdom was overrun in mere hours as the mines were destroyed throughout the night. It had felt like the battle of Moria all over again, but this time the soldiers were not prepared for the battle, still bleary eyed and disoriented from sleep that they were eventually overcome. It was that night that their grandfather had been taken from them, and during the escape, their father soon fell after. Thorin was crowned a king too young, just barely of age before taking the throne. Dis was but a child, and Frerin little more than a babe when the kingdom had been lost.

When desperate for help, only one Kingdom rushed to their aid. Within the year the Orc's had been abused and pushed out of the mountain through force, will power, and the sheer stubbornness of dwarves. King Droic had lead the armies by Thorin's side, and saw to it that it did not become lost as Moria had. Dwarves could not risk another devastation, as Ered Luin had nearly faced an Age ago, and Moria further still.

"I do not doubt his wisdom," Dis replied, the harshness from before turning sour but sober when her voice chased away the silence, "I simply do not trust the reasons behind this endeavour, as you should not as well. We have discussed this at length, brother, and I would not take too kindly to a careless little halfling that knows nothing of our ways. He does not understand what he joined into, speaking of loss as if it were something someone as soft as him would know."

"He is not alone in his cluelessness, Dis," Thorin sighed heavily, turning to look at her properly since they had entered his room, "I know as much about hobbits as they seem to know about us, which is part way to nothing." Dis sneered but said nothing in return. She wasn't alone in her frustration, but Thorin had long since learned to control his temper when it came to her; it wouldn't do either of them any good if they were both acting unreasonably, and Thorin long ago realized that Dis was far more stubborn than he. Fighting with her was beyond fruitless, but she wasn't dense; Dis would listen to reason if the occasion called for such. She was upset over the whole matter, but she understood matters of diplomacy, and knew that against their wishes, regardless of how they felt, they would never put their honour into question, nor their loyalty to their kin.

"It isn't right," Dis finally spoke after another length of silence, one of which he hadn't realized they had fallen into. "It may not be against our laws, but it is against everything that we've been raised to believe, Thorin," she breathed wearily, taking a further step into the room, moving about with restless feet, "Arranged Marriages haven't happened since the First Age. Erebor had only ever seen one in its entire history, while the Ironhill's and Ered Luin themselves have only dealt out but a handful. It takes years to forge a bond, and even longer to set it in stone, and now one had been forced and there is no way to undo what has been done. Do you not see this, brother? You can never remarry-"

"You think I do not understand this?" the eldest dwarrow hissed, "you think I haven't thought of this every night before I fall asleep, and every morning I arouse? That I'm blind to the fact that I will now never find my One? You think that this doesn't haunt me?"

Dis shook her head, "I think you're too foolish to have said anything." Thorin glared at her, but she continued, "do you believe King Droic would have held it against you if you had denied his request? Do you think he would not have understood your reasons why?"

"Do you not believe that perhaps he's already _thought_ of my reluctance?" His voice raised with an exasperated growl, "that he has not considered that I may refuse him and yet feel desperate enough to ask for my right of choice anyhow? Dis, my dear sister, you are not blind to understand that he would not have asked if there was any other way? I agreed because he was desperate enough to _request_ because he saw no other choice, risking my refusal and our alliance. What I want to understand is why it was.. _is_ so important that I take a hobbit as my spouse, and take his kin as refugees into our kingdom."

"Are you not curious?" he urged, "why a hobbit? Why _this_ hobbit? And why would he not explain the urgency of such a task? Your guess is as good as mine, but I will not turn away something that seems to already be a great shame to the Blue Mountains; my happiness Mahal forsaken or no. I have my pride, and I have my people, whether or not I have a happy marriage seems minimal in comparison."

"So you're simply going to take this without a fight?"

"What do you _want_ from me? To scream and shout at the heavens? To curse the name of Mahal and the race of hobbits? To grow old and bitter because I have not suffered my way through another failed courting?" Dis seemed at a loss for what to say. Thorin watched her for a moment before he ducked his head with a breath, "I would have never found a Consort on my own, we know this. I'm not-" Thorin stumbled with his words, "I-" he sighed, "I am a king, Dis," he said instead, "I have been a king since I was just a year into coming of age, and although I was a raised prince, it wouldn't have been another fifty years before I would have gone under training to become the diplomat our grandfather was. I was brought up as a prince, and gained the crown too soon, and it took over my life.

"I did not get the chance to meet others as you and Frerin had that opportunity," Thorin continued with a frown, "I never had the time, and when I tried, it only ever ended in failure."

"The last incident hadn't been your fault," Dis muttered, "you couldn't have known he was after the gold."

"That's beside the point," he made an offhanded brushing gesture, "the point stands that I have never been the greatest judge in character. I would have ruled alone with Frerin and you by my side until you no longer wished so. Where would that have left me?"

"You have Balin-"

"Balin is old, Dis," his hand brushed through the front of his raven hair, narrowly avoiding the beads that adorned his head, his fingers brushing over the newest addition that Dis had woven in this morning before the ceremony, once it became relevant that his intended may not understand that such a thing was expected of him. She had been sour over it, but had always promised him that she would be the one to prep him the morning of; whether it be adjusting his attire or weaving in his bead, she would do so without complaint. Thorin knew that she had wanted the moment to be of a happier occasion, where she could threaten him if he were to cause harm to his consort, or make a fool of himself on stage. Instead it had been one taken in tense silence fit for a Ceremony of the Dead than a celebration for years to come.

Dis frowned at him but said nothing.

Thorin looked between her clenched hands and his feet, his gaze settling somewhere in between against the stone of his floor. "It may not have been the ending I had wanted, or the one wanted for me, but it is the one that I now have and I am to make the best of this.. unfortunate situation. I do not know what use he will be to me during the extent of my reign, whether it is to assist or sit quietly by my side but if that is what he has come to us to do, then that is what I shall take. Nothing more."

The room settled into a still silence, one neither seemed willing to break for some time until Thorin heard a soft huff. Dis stepped forward, hands reaching over to grip her brothers shoulders, and Thorin leaned into the touch. Their foreheads pressed, hands pressing against the back of each other's necks, Dis giving him a reassuring squeeze.

"I hope you understand what you're doing," she began softly, "I don't like any of this one bit, but if some good can come out of the halfling, whatever the King deemed important for this union to happen, then I will trust his decision and henceforth, your own. Perhaps, in the days of Celebration to come, you'll be able to pry out the reason for this, if there even is one."

Thorin pulled back, letting his hand fall away once Dis had straightened out, "in the meantime, let us celebrate rather than mourn. I have a brother in law I'd like to get to know before I make a final decision on what I think of him; despite what I already deemed." She huffed faintly, "there is much for _both_ of us to learn, in the passing days to come."

Thorin nodded to this. Despite all of what Dis may feel on the matter, she was the most diplomatic of the three of them, Frerin included, so perhaps the next meeting between the halfling won't be so crude. Thorin had little hopes over the matter, but for the time, allowing the topic to drop.

"What are you going to do for the second Day of Ceremony?" Dis asked, "this isn't a usual union, all things considered."

Thorin thought of the rituals he would have to go through, and the ones expected of his mate as well. The trials they were going to face, and the intimacy expected of those newly bonded. There was no time to prepare the hobbit for what was to come in the days that approached, and all he could hope was for a moment to perhaps not let him fall into such a thing completely blind. "I must speak with him," Thorin murmured after a considerably long moment, "there is much to discuss. Send your sons to go find him, and have him brought to me at the earliest."

"What do you plan on saying to him?" 

The king paused then, stilling in his turn but did not turn to his sister nor look her in the eyes when he chose to say nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally love Dis, and I don't intend to write her continuously as cruel. It's clear there's been some miscommunication, and she's acting to protect and defend her brother as I would assume she would. So, despite this chapter, she's not a cruel character, and we'll see more of this as the chapters progress, she's simply saying what she thinks and from a place of her own understanding, which doesn't happen to come from a place of truth. This isn't her fault, but the fault of a specific king who couldn't bring himself to tell Erebor what had really happened in the West. Anyways, thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. ^^
> 
> [This is what a Centaurea Cyanus looks like, which I thought was a rather stunning shade of blue.](http://www.hgtvgardens.com/photos/flowering-plants-photos/20-bonny-blue-plants-and-flowers)


	3. Snowdrops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Besides the first and last, each chapter will have a name of a flower which I will define before hand (as I did in the previous). On another note, I again want to thank everyone for their patience and all the kind (super duper sweet) messages you're sending my way; I also want to apologize if some things are confusing right now, I do intend to answer all questions (specifically, one of treaties and about the arranged marriage) in the chapters to come. (again, self-beta'd) I hope you enjoy. ^^
> 
> Snowdrops: (white) symbolizes hope, and a new beginning.

Nobody made any notion to stop him. Nobody shouted at him to come back to his seat, nor did he hear the thudding steps of being followed. Upset, uncomfortable, and angry, Bilbo pushed his feet forward, biting down on his quivering lower lip as he ignored the stinging in his eyes, attempting to blink it away.

There were a few dwarrows that he had passed who gave their respects, with curt nods and bright friendly smiles. He tried not to look desperate as he rushed for the doorknob. Bilbo felt the fine stone finish under the expanse of his palm before he even registered he was at the door, pushing through with a bit of effort until it finally gave way under the force, feeling the light breeze of the empty halls stretched out impossibly far in front of him. They were lit by torches that adorned the reaches and lit the path, and it gave him the feeling of emptiness when he let the door heavily fall close behind him. The thud resonated and echo'd, the sounds of the celebration muffled behind him when it slid shut. Bilbo felt the cold air of the mountain nip his nose, his feet padding against the floor that soon picked up once he kicked up his feet and finally rushed down the empty corridor. He ran until he was certain he could no longer hear the halls and the voices that seemed to linger for so far in the mountain, until Bilbo was sure that the halls he reached were untouched by the dread that tainted this day since the light had spread over Yavanna's green Earth, and festered like a sore.

He thought of what Lady Dis had said to him, looked upon the blatant hatred over her face and how nobody came to his defense. How he couldn't even bring himself to speak against her word, for nothing he could have said would have expressed how wrong she was. Bilbo felt his chest seize up at the humiliation of what these people must think of him; a homeless beggar that had weaseled his way to the throne, stealing what chance Thorin might have had for a happy marriage to someone he loved, and the sting it brought that he had taken this happy moment from someone; Bilbo could not help but think her anger justified.

He ran until his lungs hurt and his legs felt weak, ran until he didn't recognize the halls he traveled in, and until he had lost track of how many turns he had made. He ran until he couldn't any longer, until his legs gave way and he collapsed against one of the chilled overarching walls, the torch lights dimming from lack of care. Bilbo heaved in air, his back sliding down with his knees pulled up against his chest, letting his head fall into his hands as he gasped for breath. He didn't know how long he sat there, the halls ever silent, and he wondered when someone might chance upon him, but for now he was alone, and that isolation seemed to take some form of weight from his chest.

For months he had been surrounded by his kin, and soon by nothing but dwarrows. Every minute of every day, and never a moment to himself to simply sit and reflect; he was exhausted, both physically and mentally, this past year being nothing but overwhelming and horrible and all he wanted was time to breathe. Attempting to brush his fingers through his hair had done nothing but remind him of the light Circlet on his head and that infernal bead weighing his hair, and in a fit of rage tore off the crown and threw it against the opposite wall with a shout. His hand flying back to his face to rub at his eyes and rake his fingers through the hair that wasn't being trapped by the braid, feeling a heavy sob bubble up in his throat until he was choking on them.

Why Erebor? Bilbo thought weakly, why did it have to be Erebor? Why could they not try to arrange his marriage to someone in the Blue Mountains, if not at all? To a lord that understood the losses and could have been there to help the hobbits reclaim their land? Yet instead they were sent away. Sent to a kingdom that wasn't involved. Bilbo had asked King Droic why they had to leave, and while the King had assured him that it was for their safety, Bilbo felt there was something more involved when picking a kingdom so far over the Misty Mountains, that the notion had settled something uneasy in the pit of his stomach. It didn't seem to matter now, funnily enough, it didn't seem to matter.

His mother used to tell him that once he decided to get married, that it would be one of the happiest days of his life. She used to tell him of the life she lived before she had met Bungo, and how she had been seen as quite the disturber of peace; used to run away with Wizards to find the Elves, she did. Traveled further than any hobbit dared before her, all the way to Rivendell and back, and never once felt guilty for the scandal she had caused. Nobody expected better of a Took, of course, and thought her quite foolish for her unbecoming sense of adventure.

"It was thrilling, you see," he can remember her saying one morning, where the sunlight was shining through the round windows and causing the walls surrounding to reflect in a calm glow of gold. A mug warm between his small palms, and a meal already settling comfortably in his belly. Bilbo can still remember how she had brushed her fingers over his forehead to push back his still growing curls, "running away and seeing the sights, looking for the high Elves- adventure," her voice had sounded distant, but the twinge of longing had long since faded away, "but the real adventure was returning years later and finding that Baggins boy had finally grown into his feet."

She used to say how she had been quite at a loss of what to do, having always been thoroughly content with never settling down after her travels, but once she'd returned she couldn't think of anything else. Belladonna had been so frustrated with the prospect, she had written and rewritten many a letter to the wizard she traveled with, but never had the courage or will to send a one. She surprised everyone, including herself, when she approached Bungo under the Party Tree and handed him a weaved bouquet of Calla Lily's, doted in red and white Carnations, and tied off with string where her blue courting ribbon should have been, where not a soul was surpised to learn she had misplaced.

"I've seen some terrible things, my child," she told her son, "but never in my life had I ever been as terrified as I was in that moment."

Nearby hobbits stopping in their tracks in shock at the prospect, seeing a flighty lass as Belladonna attempting to open a courtship with as highly a respectable hobbit as Bungo. Ludicrous, truly, and yet Bungo had yet to react. Pipe between his fingers inches from his lips where his hand had frozen, his expression blank with his eyes shifting between the blossoms and her face, back and forth for a good minute until he seemed to realize he was staring. She described how his hand had dropped from it's spot, the pipe falling from his fingers and onto the grass. Belladonna nearly didn't react when she felt two hand upon her cheek, the flowers falling between their feet when his nose moved to brush against her own.

"You see, my love," Belladonna breathed out, "we hobbits are simple creatures of simple pleasures, and we greet each other in different ways. Wave to strangers, and brush noses with old friends, but it matters how you do it, or else it can give off the wrong message." The right hand alone was used to cup the cheek of a friend, the left was saved for family; for those of a higher status, a hand would be placed on their right shoulder while their other hand rests on the opposites left arm. Yet, for beloved and betrothed, an intimate gesture between hobbits, was to have both hands cupping each cheek, which opened up the body and gave the one before them their complete attention and focus. Showing that nothing in that moment matters than the person between their palms.

"One day, my dearest Bilbo," she spoke wistfully, fingers threading through his curly hair, "you'll have someone to share that joy with you too."

A harsh sob tightened up his throat, his arms wrapping around his legs where his face was buried between his knees. He wondered if she were here with him now, what she would say to him. He wondered if she would have followed him out and rubbed her hand against his back in soothing circles, and tell him he was brave and that everything was going to be alright.

No. Belladonna wouldn't have let the whole arranged marriage to happen whatsoever, and thank you _very_ kindly. She would have said bugger all to the whole blasted treaty, and tell lords and kings alike where exactly they could shove it. Bilbo sniffed. If his mother were here, and had been unable to prevent this fate no matter the manner of her sharp tongue or the snarl on her lips, she would have at least taken much of the burden from his shoulders, like Drogo and Hamfast have been known to try. She would have taken over half of his responsibility and never let her chin fall; she would give a whole new meaning to stiff upper lip that would put more than half of these stingy dwarven delegates to shame.

She would say, ' _soften your brow,_ ' and ' _dry those tears, little buttercup, you've got a list of people to prove wrong._ ' It made him chuckle wetly despite the tears reddening his cheeks that allowed his eyes to get hot and puffy. Bilbo used his sleeve to uselessly wipe at his cheeks, when he noticed a pair of legs just a foot or so away.

Bilbo found he could say nothing when he noticed, letting his head fall back into his hands without so much as an acknowledgement. Bungo would have scolded him for being so rude, but Bilbo felt he was in no shape to make polite conversation.

"It's bad luck to cry on your wedding day," came the light comment, and soon an even lighter shuffle of feet followed where they had taken to settle at Bilbo's side, "Ma told Asphodel on her wedding day to Rufus Burrows, as she had told me too. We've both been helpless criers, but I suppose crying from joy is a bit different than what you're doin' innit?"

"Go back to the celebration, Primula," Bilbo murmured against his knee.

"Not when you're out here, Bilbo," his cousin replied firmly, placing her hand against his shoulder, "it's not right, you being out here all alone."

"I was doing perfectly alright, thank you very much," he thought about lifting his head, but thought better of it. His cheeks were still tear stained, his eyes red and hot. So he kept his face burrowed between his knees and grudgingly accepted her hand rubbing circles against his back like she had when they were fauntlings, after he had gotten himself hurt. "Don't know why you bothered to follow me out all the way here when you could be enjoying the festivities with Drogo," Bilbo insisted a bit quietly, still feeling a bit flustered and drained from the events of the day, "no respectable hobbit would turn down good ale and company for something so unpleasant."

"No respectable hobbit would allow their cousin to marry off to a king without the proper ceremonies," Primula remarked with a waning smile, "no respectable hobbit would approve of such a shameless display of discontent and allow the marriage to continue," her words grew softer with every word, her fingers tapping slowly, "and certainly no respectable hobbit would sit aside and let it be without causing a fuss." Bilbo raised his head from his knee's to look at her, only to find that she looked almost as distraught as he felt, her tightly braided curls coming undone around her ribbons; her cheeks flushed, the edges of her lips twitching downward, and her eyes wet with unshed sadness.

"You see, Bilbo," Primula frowned, continuing to run her palm along his back, "there's only one respectable hobbit left in this whole mountain, and I can assure you that it ain't me."

Swallowing down his sadness, thick and bitter in his throat, he shook his head with a sniff. Bilbo wiped the sleeve of his formal wedding attire over his eyes, the wool thick and heavy over his arm. "You are plenty respectable, Primula," his voice wavered raw from all his crying, which did nothing but remind Bilbo that he was making a bit of a scene in the middle of a - _thankfully_ \- empty hallway. Stiffening his lips, he focused on his breathing, counting out in his head while he tried to remember his words, "you married Drogo, after all."

"Hardly respectable," she snorted, "Baggins or otherwise, mind you. He gave you away to that.. that royal _clod_ who wouldn't even look at you at first."

"It's dwarven customs," Bilbo reminded gently, letting his hands fall to his lap in a crumbled heap, "besides, I've yet to look at my.. spouse, at all as a matter of fact."

Primula paused, her lips parting before her eyes squinted at him as if trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle, "you haven't _what_?"

Bilbo fidgeted in his seat, catching himself after a moment before sticking his nose in the air, "We both know very well you are not deaf, I told you I haven't seen him."

"Haven't seen..- _Bilbo!_ " she squeaked, "married to a man you've never even seen! _Why_ , what do you plan to do for the ceremony tonight?"

"There won't be a ceremony tonight," the incredulous feeling from before was falling replaced by that confounded dread again, "you know as well as I that these dwarves do not care for our customs. You saw how the wedding went." Bilbo's eyes fell to his hands when he heard her sigh.

"Not a _single_ flower," she tutted, "it's not right, any of it." Primula was quiet only a moment, the silence passing when her foot slammed down angrily against the stone floor, "Why would that silly king trap you into that treaty in the first place!" the Brandybuck huffed, "it did nothing but throw us across the map, take our home, our culture, and for what? Our safety? _Pah!_ I say _sod_ the safety of dwarves! We ought to just leave the mountain and forget any of this ever happened."

"I wish it were that simple," Bilbo muttered grievously, "the whole kingdom knows my face, and I shan't force us away simply because I am unhappy," reaching out a hand, he clasped his palm over her shaking ones, her fury a fiery thing she seemed to be struggling to contain. "I will not risk your life, nor the lives of the others, when I can provide all of you with shelter, food, and a warm bed at night. The fauntling's are playing again, our rooms filled with music and laughter with your bellies nicely stuffed. How could I possible take that away?"

To that, Primula couldn't come up with an answer, leading to which Bilbo let his hands fall away mournfully, wishing he had his pipe on him in that moment. "You understand that sacrifice is not something Hobbits do, but it seems that fate shan't be too kind for this particular one."

"That don't make it right," she muttered, but that seemed to be the end of it. They both knew that fussing over the 'right's and 'wrong's would do nothing but upset them further, and at this time neither really had the heart to push the topic. Bilbo was doing a very good job at calming himself down, while Primula seemed on the verge of saying one thing or another, until finally seeming to settle on a melancholy huff of breath, pushing to her feet not moments later. For an instant, Bilbo thought she was going to leave him, causing his chest to ache at the loss of companionship, when he saw her walking over to pick up the Circlet he had thrown earlier.

She was quiet for some time. Primula held the silver band in her hands, simply admiring it as if it were the dust she'd picked up off an untouched surface, rather than the symbol of his right and title as the king's Consort. She brushed her fingers over the fine curves of it, sliding along the rim with a vague interest until she glanced up to look at the hobbit still sitting most pitifully upon the floor. Stepping forward, she held out the band.

"Rather lovely," she passed the light thing to his hands, to which he reluctantly took, "it doesn't even look scratched from where you tossed it."

Bilbo responded with nothing more than a nonchalant hum, pressing his thumb against the white gem that.. well, it looked like it was glowing, at the center of the crown. He hadn't gotten a chance to give the Circlet more than a brief glance at the ceremony, but now that he's able to look it over, he found that the simple thing was truly elegant; maybe even beautiful if he truly considered it. The band's were thin like slim branches of a willow, doted in silver leaves that caused his heart to ache. He thought remorsefully of the spring that's going to pass and deplored the realization of how he won't be able to watch the tree's turn lush, or watch as the snow melted when the tips of green grass filtered through. He won't see the lilacs bud their short birth, or encourage his cherry blossoms to drink in the sun; it would be the first spring where he won't be able to bury his hands in the cool moist soil of his garden and it hardly seemed fair.

Bilbo brushed his thumb over the admittedly charming trinket, recognizing the clear effort to try and mimic the delicate touch of nature into something that could not grow nor hold life. The attempt was admirable, but did the opposite effect of what was clearly intended; heavy it was upon his brow in a way a woven wreath was not. The metal was smooth under his finger, and perhaps was worth more than the whole of the Shire, yet he couldn't find a thing about it he admired.

"I wish Belladonna were here," Bilbo heard Primula whisper under her breath, "she always knew what to do."

"I was thinking the same thing," he admitted, pushing his wobbly knees to stand, "but she is not here, and I am. For now, that is going to have to be enough."

"It is enough," and she meant it, reaching her hands forward to take the circlet from his hands to place it over his curls, "dwelling on 'could have's and 'should have been's will do nothing more than make us bitter and old," Primula gave him a soft grin, letting her hand fall to his cheek, "besides, I think I quite remember promising a tween Bilbo that I'd dance with him at his wedding."

Bilbo gave a quirked semi smile at that, which was nothing more than a faint upturn at the side of his mouth, but it was there all the same, "I would have never held you up to a child's promise."

"I wouldn't be a very good cousin if I hadn't," she allowed, brushing her nose forward in something that Bilbo could have easily mistaken for affection, but he knew it was an attempt to be reassuring. Bilbo enjoyed the little endearment when he brushed their noses together, reminding him that he's still a hobbit with simple needs and a simple family to go with it, even if they were anything but simple to him. Primula endeared him with one of her charming white smiles, dropping her hand to his shoulder to tug him along, forcing him to move his feet onward.

"I'm sure your king won't mind you going missing for some time more," she commented, looping her arm through his to lead the way, "I suspect he's plenty busy right now, so that should give us plenty of time for a proper dance," she paused then, "a _real_ one. The one you should have gotten this morning if those bumbling dwarves hadn't kept you from us."

"They know nothing about our traditions, Primula," Bilbo reminded gently, "I expected as much, being so far east as we are. The dwarrows of the Blue Mountains were good folk, but I don't suppose the Lord had any time to explain to these dwarrows our culture," he seemed to somber at that, "I have been trying to, I know we _all_ have been trying, but it seems none are too keen on listening."

"Not an ounce of respect in their body," she huffed, "it's a right shame, it is. I feel like this lot could learn a thing or two from us hobbits, rather than question why we don't have beards and stare at our feet all day," Primula made a pause, and then "you don't suppose they'll start forcing us to wear _shoes_ do you?"

Bilbo faltered, shuddering at the implication, "They may not have been the most wondrous hosts, but they're not _cruel_."

"I trust your judgement," she gave instead of something else she was considering to say, looking from wall to wall with an indescribable look on her face. Seeming to recall something, she made a quick gesture with one of her hands, and off they went in the opposite direction they were heading. They were walking in companionable silence, the quiet comfortable and welcome as Primula retraced their steps, taking familiar turns down hallways Bilbo can't remember running down.

"Doesn't it seem strange?" Primula spoke up after a few minutes, taking another turn.

Bilbo ' _hm_ 'd under his breath, which her keen ears had little trouble picking up, despite how quietly he had done so.

"You know," she continued vaguely, prompting Bilbo to raise a patient brow at her. "Well," she tried again, glancing about, "you being the Royal Consort and all, shouldn't you have a body guard?" Bilbo looked startled at the question, which had her hurriedly adding, "not that you need one! Simply that you're royalty now, and have been missing from the festivities for some time. Mind you this is your wedding day, and your husband hasn't even sent someone to go looking for you."

"Please, my dear, do not call him that," the hobbit muttered regretfully, "he's my legal spouse and nothing more. Husband implies affection, and I can assure you that I do not have any feelings towards _him_." Bilbo frowned, "and it's clear the feeling is mutual, because you are right, he's sent no one to come look for me."

Primula became a tiff somber after that, "You know, perhaps we're being a tad harsh," she sighed briskly, "they did agree to hold up the treaty, after all. Many of the other hobbits are quite thankful for the homes and food they've provided for us."

"You're right," it was Bilbo's turn to sigh, glancing about the lengthy corridor they found themselves in, one he recognized by the shape of it. "They have done _far_ more than I could have ever asked for, disrespect of our culture aside. Do not get me wrong, I am thankful for everything they have done for us, but I am still not happy about much of this."

"Which is perfectly understandable," Primula nodded in agreement, brushing the palm of her hand over the arm she had her own looped around, "I just hope that it will all turn out in the end. Perhaps we'll be able to return to the Shire, and your hu-" she coughed, "spouse, wouldn't be adverse to letting you go."

"Something tells me he would encourage it," Bilbo added, although the bitterness in his tone was little, "maybe on the journey back we could stop by Rivendell. We hadn't the chance on the way up due to the weariness of the dwarves from Ered Luin, and I have always wanted to meet the Elves."

"Can't you speak Sindarin?" Bilbo nodded.

"I can also speak a bit of Quenderin, but it's choppy at best. I learned a bit through old poetry books, but had no way to shape up my vowels as properly as I would have liked." Primula tilted her head at this, watching as Bilbo's ears perked from the commotion in the Grand Hall and being careful to tread away from the guards at the gates. Primula was not in the least successful when the two dwarves caught sight of them, surprise flashing over their face when the saw the circlet over Bilbo's curls. There wasn't anything they could do when they were approached, watching as the soldiers gave Bilbo a slight frown before speaking.

"What are you doing away from the King?"

The hobbit didn't take too kindly to their tone, and even worse to their comment. He wasn't some _possession_ that was simply there to look pretty beside the mountains monarch. Straightening to his full height with a frown of his own, he snapped "I do not believe that is of any of your concern, but if you _must_ know, I have been wandering the halls," the lie came easily enough, as he wasn't about to tell these strangers he'd been crying over the unfortunate circumstances that have taken over his life, "Erebor is rather vast, and if I am to be Consort to the King, I would hate to get lost so easy in the place I would call my home."

That didn't seem to be the answer they had been expecting, glancing between one another until the taller of the two looked to Bilbo with a short nod, "ya do know it's against tradition to be away from yer intended durin' the festivities, don't you?" It seemed like a genuine question, and Bilbo felt somewhat guilty for having snapped at him.

"I hadn't the faintest clue," the hobbit admitted carefully, purposely not mentioning the warning Frerin had given him before he had left, "I'm rather confused on a great many of dwarven customs, and there shan't be a one who is willing to explain it all to me."

Bilbo wasn't sure quite what he expected to come of him admitting such a thing to a stranger; perhaps shame or embarrassment for his kin. Instead he saw anger and bafflement, where it was directed, the hobbit didn't know, although he had a feeling it wasn't towards him.

"Can't say I'm surprised," the dwarrow growled, muttering under his breath about one thing or another, his rough hand rubbing down his bearded chin. After a bit of grumbling, he seemed to come to some sort of stand still, shaking his head wearily. "M'sorry, your Majesty, for the stubbornness of dwarves."

Bilbo could help but quirk a smile at that. It seemed he wasn't the only one in this mountain that didn't quiet agree with this silent treatment either.

"I can hardly blame dwarves for being suspicious of outsiders," the hobbit allowed, even if reluctant. With a shake of his head, he chuckled, "my, where are my manners? My name is Bilbo Baggins of the lost hills," he gave a little bow. Primula tried not to follow too far, giving the soldiers a little curtsy appropriate for the occasion, announcing herself just after. "At your service."

"Ah!" as if remembering something, he jabbed his elbow against the other dwarfs ribs, "I am Glóin, son of Gróin, and this here is me son Gimli." The shorter dwarf puffed out his chest in something close to pride, greeting the two hobbits with a friendly grin before they stooped to a low bow, "and we are at _your_ service."

"That seems hardly necessary, but thank you," Bilbo smiled politely, "now if you'll excuse us, I have somewhere I need to be."

"Do not travel far, your Majesty," Bilbo had to bite his tongue and remind himself that telling this dwarf to simply call him by his name might not go over well, "I shall inform the king of your safety."

Bilbo started at that, "oh! That won't be necessary-" but the dwarf paid him no mind and began saying something to his son in a language that Bilbo couldn't begin to hope to understand. Turning back to their post as the young one, Gimli, pushed through the grand door and slipped out of sight. With a heavy sigh, Bilbo turned his attention back to Primula whose face was pinched up in a pained expression that mirrored exactly how he felt.

"That could have been worse," Primula dared to whisper once they were finally out of earshot, stepping into the long hall that trailed them directly to the rooms of his kin. Most were at the festivities besides a few too sick to leave their beds. Primula slipped inside the large spacious area, quietly moving past the multitude of beds at least till she reached the one on the very far right. Bilbo hovered in the doorway where she had left him, returning moments later with a little string tied package that she kept firmly behind her back. It only took a few moments for them to track down where Bilbo's own quarters were, slipping inside after Primula seemed to pause at the door, looking pointedly excited about something but wouldn't budge her lips to say what.

It wasn't until they stepped inside and was greeted by shouting cheery faces, did Bilbo understand.

"You planned a Giving Away party?" he croaked, once Drogo had finally let go of him and passed him to Hamfast who delighted in Bilbo's grateful hugs, those of whose throat was constricting with tears he refused to shed, but it didn't make his smile any less watery, or the joy any less evident. Primula was beaming at him, as was his cousin Falco and the other relatives that he had asked to give their blessings at the wedding. His aunt Primrose eagerly accepting his greeting, young Peregrin Took with Meriadoc Brandybuck playing a game over the sheets of Bilbo's once pristine bed; Bilbo laughed wetly when Bell Goodchild pulled him into one of her tight warm hugs that had him choking on a sob by the time she pulled away.

"Of course we did, silly," Bell smiled her bright and beautiful smile that could have flowers bloom early, "It wouldn't be a Wedding if there wasn't a Giving Away."

Drogo pulled Primula to him, leaning down to whisper something in her ear to which she nodded eagerly, whispering something back quickly. She turned to look at Bilbo with a careful smile, holding out the package from earlier for him to see properly this time; he accepted a little uncertainly, considering that it was his wedding and he didn't have a single gift to give any of his relatives and friends, but none of which seemed to be terribly bothered by the slight change in tradition. Tentatively, he tugged at the string, which easily came loose after a few careful pulls, falling to the floor in an elegant heap as he moved to undo the simple wrappings. They fell away to reveal of rather decently sized box, thin but wide and he couldn't help but wonder if it had been some silly jewel they had come across, until his fingers deftly moved to remove the lid.

His breath seemed to catch in his throat at the sight.

"H-how.." Bilbo struggled to find his voice, his fingers moving forwards of their own accord and into the box where they brushed over soft petals.

"Snowdrops," Primula said softly, "I found them when Drogo and I had been returning from the markets of Dale just the other day. They pushed through the snow with such delicacy, and after seeing what those dwarves planned for your wedding, it didn't seem right for you to go without."

Bilbo was at a loss for words, when Primula's hands moved forward to grab the flower woven crown from the box which Bilbo was quick to discard, "may I?" she asked, and Bilbo could do nothing else but nod, afraid his voice would shake and quiver and he was quite content to allow her to pull off the metal circlet, and replace it with the much lighter and softer white buds that adorned his honey threaded curls.

"For hope," his aunt Primrose smiled, brushing her hand up to adjust his hair around the stems, "and a new beginning."

Bilbo found himself in tears for the third time that day, but his kin didn't belittle him for such a thing, and actually seemed quite touched at the notion. The dread that had been following him for weeks seemed to lift into a vague ache in the back of his mind, allowing himself this moment of joy to himself, willing it to swallow him whole. Hamfast was quick to pull Bilbo's attention away when he pulled out a fiddle, much to the hobbit's astonishment.

"Where on Yavanna's green earth did you come across _that_?"

Hamfast only smiled an unsure smile, explaining how he had stumbled across a booth one day at the market when he was trying to find his wife some new fabrics, "she loves to sow you see, Bilbo sir, and the missus noticed some of the younguns still didn't have proper clothes. You know how she gets when she get's ta thinkin a fauntlin's not bein' well taken care of." He went on to explain how he had found a little booth full of instruments he's never seen before, but he certainly recognized a good fiddle when he did, "after I had left the ol' girl back in the Shire, I just had to get another." Which was fortunate, considering that Hamfast seemed to have the dexterity of an elf; which did his garden wonders and brought a bit of the Shire back into their hearts when he started on the first few strings.

Quick and sharp, light and erratic, and soon his aunt Primrose pulled out her flute that she had tucked away, and skipped along to the lively tune with vigorous succession.

With a laugh, Primula bowed an exaggerated amount before Bilbo, offering her hand for the first dance to which he gleefully accepted with a full heart. For the first time in months, Bilbo found himself laughing freely and doing so very _loudly_ ; Drogo jumped into the mix, taking Bilbo by his arms as they danced around one another, twisting and turning in circles, arms lacing and palms pressing. The fauntling's were doing dances of their own, Merry and Pippin having taken infant Rosie Cotton by her arms and helped her stand, spinning in circles with their giddy screams and yips.

The enjoyment was abruptly interrupted when the doors to the bedroom burst open, and in fell two young princes who tumbled onto the ground in a heap, presumably from leaning against the door to figure out what was going on. The hobbits all jolted in surprise, clearly unsure who they were and what was going on, until Bilbo remembered himself quickly, brushing his hands over his somewhat rumpled wedding attire.

Fili was the first to push to his feet, quickly pulling a fumbling Kili who was hastily spewing apologies, shamefaced and guilty looking whereas his brother was far more reserved but still looking rightly abashed.

"Sorry!" Kili tumbled out embarrassed, "see, we were sent out to find you-"

"Master Baggins, that is-" Fili cut in.

"And we heard music,"

"So we became curious," the elder brother gave with subtle wave of his hands, "we didn't mean to interrupt-"

"On all your hobbity business-"

"We've just never heard music like that before." Fili finished, and at that point Bilbo noticed that even with his expression mostly neutral, besides the uneasiness in his eyes, the hobbit could make out a slight flush of his cheeks and neck that his beard did little to hide.

"It's clear we interrupted something personal," Kili adding quickly, "we'll be on our way-"

"No, no," the voice shocked everyone, most of all Bilbo considering it was his own, "I suppose you boy's are family now," Bilbo said carefully, moving his hands to rest on his hips because after all, they were still children by dwarven standards, barely of age, and Bilbo never had the heart to be cruel to a child's honest curiosity. "Besides," he upturned his chin, feeling less burdened by all things under Yavanna's blessed light, "it wouldn't hurt to show you two a bit of my culture after your kingdom had so graciously shared theirs, that is, if you are willing?"

That seemed to perk them up, with even Fili's face beaming in a delighted smile at the notion of being taught something completely new. "Of course!" It was Kili who exclaimed as such, but the both of them seemed just as eager to participate in whatever it is that they had unwittingly agreed to. Bilbo exchanged a look between Primula and Drogo, glancing over to Hamfast who was holding the bow to his fiddle in a careful hand, nodding to him with a light smile on his lips before starting a different song; Primrose only needed a moment to pick up in tune after.

"Now watch carefully," Bilbo instructed, holding out his hand for someone to take, which Drogo had been the first to grab seeing as he was feeling oddly confident in his dancing skills, and wanted for nothing than to show a few dwarves a thing or two about the ways of the Shire.

Hamfast picked up a similar tune to earlier, quick paced and light, and soon Bilbo and Drogo were back to what they had been doing before; twisting and turning, jumping and skipping, laughing as they spun. Fili and Kili were trying to mimic what was happening but instead simply spun in circles, laughing all the while as they clung to each other's arms. Hamfast did a quick crescendo and Bilbo traded partners, pulling Kili to him while Drogo made for Primula, and Bell took a grab for Fili. The princes were only momentarily caught off guard, but soon Bilbo had an armful of laughing prince who wasn't having much of a difficult time keeping up. It didn't take long for the princes to realize there wasn't really a dance routine other than to let their feet move to their own accord, which they seemed more than pleased to do.

The partners swapped more than once. Bilbo partnering with Fili twice, Kili three times, Drogo and Primula at least once each, and Bell had her hand in a few dances herself. The fauntlings paid little mind to anything else, until Pippin ran up during one of the switches and pulled at Fili's leg, and soon Merry was with them and taking Kili as his own and the four of them made merry until they were all quite tired and a fair deal dizzier, eventually stopping to take a momentary rest.

Fili and Kili made comfortable company, and his kin warmed up to them well enough. Settling down by the fireplace that had been set before Bilbo had gotten there, and everyone settled comfortably enough; the fauntlings passed out against one of the armchairs, Primula and Drogo sitting on the love seat together, while Hamfast, Bell, and Primrose were seated on the couch. Bilbo was on the floor, his feet tucked under him as he warmed up by the fire, while Fili and Kili sat not too far away from himself. Seated crossly on the floor and pleasantly content.

Bilbo wasn't entirely sure what conversation was happening among the hobbits, when he heard Kili's voice pipe up, "Master Boggins?"

"It's Baggins," the hobbit corrected a bit terse, but the dwarf didn't seem to notice, "besides, Bilbo will do just fine."

Kili beamed at him from where he sat, "Aye, Bilbo, then." Kili started with a tilt of his head, before making a little gesture towards the hobbit's head, "I was wondering, if you don't mind, why you've got all those flowers in your hair for?"

Bilbo felt the answer at the tip of his tongue, yet something in him prevented him from just outright saying it. The boys seemed well enough aware of the cultural difference between them, but it was clear to him that they didn't understand the extent of this difference- what flowers mean to hobbits, what they had walked in on. Bilbo treaded his words carefully, mapping out what he wanted to say before he up and said them, not wanting to cause offence to the few dwarves that actually seemed genuinely interested rather than just politely nodding along.

"Well," Bilbo began, glancing to his kin who all seemed to be in some deep conversation or another, not paying them a lick of attention, "flowers are sacred to hobbits." Bilbo licked his lips which felt dry against his tongue, folding his hands over his belly in thought, "We use them for just about everything. They have a language of their own, you see. A language that we hobbits are plenty mindful of when we grow and nurture them, but most importantly, when we pick them. It's always important to pick the right flower, or else the message may come off as wrong."

"Message?" It was Fili who spoke up in question this time around, and Bilbo merely nodded.

"Yes, message. We typically use flowers to send notes if they're simple enough to be one worded. If anything more than that, we ought to use parchment, but it would be seen as downright silly if someone were to present another with a piece of paper rather than a bouquet."

"Are you talking about courting?" Kili asked.

Bilbo nodded, "well, sort of. Flowers are important for courting, yes, but they're important for an array of other things too. Such as someone's Coming of Age, or Birthday. They're also used during all sort of celebrations, and solstice, and would be buried at death when in mourning."

"We do something similar," Fili stated, glancing from his brother to the hobbit, "but, instead of flowers, we used gems to show how much someone means to us."

"We also use beads," Kili said, flicking a silver one just before his ear.

"What do the beads symbolize?" Bilbo asked, curious as he's reminded of the one he'd been given earlier at the ceremony. He thought back to those gentle hands but shook away the thoughts.

"Plenty of things," Kili shrugged, pointing up to the one he had flicked, "this one symbolizes my own Coming of Age, which had been a year ago, and this one-" he pointed to one a little further back on his head, which was more of a clasp than a bead, "symbolizes that I'm a prince of Durin."

"And that one on you head," Fili pointed out, his tone leisured and soft, "symbolizes who you belong to, and your status as the King's Consort."

The bead weighed heavily against his face, but Bilbo forced himself to pay it no mind, "I, ah.. I figured as much."

"Although you've no courting bead," Kili pointed out, "which is odd considering that courting would go on for _years_ before marriage, but somehow you forgone all of the waiting and went straight to being wed."

Bilbo said nothing to that, which only prompted the younger dwarf to keep talking. "I know it had something to do with something, I can't remember what the Lord from Ered Luin had said, when he had sent a message to Uncle about honouring some treaty. I wasn't there when it happened, you see, only came in to see him and Amad arguing over something. I'm sure she was convinced you were some Harpy looking for the throne."

Fili nodded, "She was furious with Uncle that he was going to go through with it, but he stood by his honour and sent the message for you to come. He had no idea that you were bringing so many with you until you had arrived."

Bilbo looked between them, horrifically confused. "What do you mean they had no idea? Surely the King would have expected the rest of the Hobbits to follow their Thain after what had happened? I would never have come here if it wasn't for them."

It was the brothers turn to look confused, glancing between one another before turning their puzzled gazes to him, "Well, you came here for the riches of Erebor, did you not?" the conversation around them was becoming hushed, Kili frowned at this, "Amad assumed you simply wanted the money, for what purpose no one could say, so you can perhaps imagine the shock that came about when you showed up with a.. a flock of halflings."

"Distant family that came to see the wedding," Fili supplied, "which Amad had been wondering when they were all supposed to be heading back to.. you know," he waved a hand, "wherever it is that they live."

"She planned on setting up a caravan for _after_ the Ceremony had been completed, of course," Kili added hastily, misunderstanding the horrified expression that had passed over Bilbo's face, "we wouldn't want them to be sent away so soon. Especially right after the wedding!"

"You would send them back?" Bilbo spoke almost too softly to be heard. He felt his heart pick up in his chest, something cold washing over him. No, no, no, _no_ something wasn't right. Riches? Surprised that there would be so many coming to Erebor? There was just a little over a hundred that came with! It was such a small number compared to how many are still missing, and Lady Dis wanted to send them away? Send them where? Their home was lost, but the boys-

Bilbo felt a wave of nausea crash over him. 

_Nobody told them_. 

His whole stay in Erebor had been placed in the hands of Ered Luin. The kingdom that had given them over, promised them safety, food, and a home. The kingdom that had given away his right to choose, and bound him in a marriage he did not want; they threw him across Middle Earth, taking them far away from their home in the west, and preventing any sort of shot they may have had in reclaiming their homeland, and _they didn't even bother to tell the dwarves why they were there_.

Suddenly all the cold shoulders he was given, the tense angry glare Dis had sent his way, all the dwarves that had been avoiding him and his kin; it all made sense now.

 _They think I'm here for the throne_ , Bilbo thought with a sick twist in his gut, _and Thorin..-_

"Boys," Bilbo's voice was far too quiet then he would have liked, but they seemed to hear him over the crackling of the fire regardless, suddenly quite aware of how the atmosphere had changed. "Boys, I believe there has been some terrible misunderstanding."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already had this one written out before I had even written the second chapter (this was meant to be the second, but I changed my mind and pushed it to third- after altering a few things at the beginning and some facts towards middle and end, I was able to get this one out much sooner.) Also, terribly sorry about the (slight) cliff at the end. Thank you for reading. ^^
> 
> Carnations; (red) carnations symbolizes love, pride and admiration- (white) carnations symbolizes innocence and pure love.  
> Calla Lily's; (white) symbolizes magnificence, beauty, as well as innocence and purity.  
> Snowdrops; (white) symbolizes hope, and a new beginning.
> 
> The circlet was meant to look something like this [here](https://www.camiasdesigns.com/jewelry/circlets/renaissance-headpiece-w-leaves/) or maybe even [this](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=42342151) which I thought seemed suitable for Bilbo in any case.
> 
> And the song Hamfast and Primrose was playing was this: [here](https://youtu.be/jAWZS1asqQE?t=6m55s) (till about 8:45)?


	4. Iris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things are starting to come to light, (which wasn't the main focus of this fic, so it's not a moment too soon, if I must say, considering I've got big things planned.) Again, thank you all who are sticking about for the long run. 
> 
> Iris: I have a message for you.

"Boys I believe there has been some terrible misunderstanding."

A terrible _terrible_ misunderstanding that was clear nobody had tried to clear up. Not the dwarrows from the Blue Mountains, or his kin; not even Erebor had asked for elaborations on what the purpose of the hobbits being in their mountain was even about; at least never to Bilbo himself. Only that their honour had been put into question, and agreed unwittingly into something that was inexplicably clear these dwarrows -that _Thorin_ \- wanted nothing to do with; but what if they..- if _he_ understood the cause? Bilbo felt foolish for even thinking it. It wouldn't change anything, and would likely cause the dwarf to think even less of him. Dwarrows seemed to value those who could stand for their own, and yet Hobbiton lay in ashes.

"Misunderstanding?" Fili questioned with narrowed brows, "It seems clear that you had gone to the Blue Mountains and asked for a treaty to be honoured. In which case you take our Uncle's hand, and live under the protection of Erebor."

"I assumed you were some spy or assassin after Uncle told us about you," Kili pushed himself to sit upright, "what little he did know of you, that is. You know, I don't think he's ever heard of a hobbit before until just a few months ago."

Bilbo couldn't find the words to explain just how wrong this all was. How terribly confused and mistaken they happened to be. He looked desperately towards his kin, who seemed to be struggling with a similar predicament, one of which the brother's caught on quickly enough; their indignation turning to confusion, and then concern once they got a good look at Bilbo's face. Honestly, Bilbo had no idea how he must have looked in that moment. The past several months going by in flashes; the fire's, the death's, the starvation, the cold. He could still hear the cry of his kin, and the warm thickness that stained the snow, making it look black in the moonlight. It must have shown on his face, for the boys gave start at the sight of it.

"We don't think that _now_ , of course," Fili elbowed his brother sharply in the ribs, "you hobbits are very kind! If not confusing folk. To be honest you're not at all how Amad had reckoned you would be. So, in light of this, we're quite at a loss of what brought you here."

"Everyone's wondering," Kili added, avoiding the next measured jab of his brother's elbow, "you see, it's just not every day arranged marriages happen. It's unheard of in certain kingdoms, considering many give themselves over to their trade than to even consider a courtship. So, if you can imagine, your union with Uncle is a thing of speculation. There's no _reason_ for it. At least, not one we've been able to figure out."

"So, well, we were hoping you'd tell us." Fili finished, turning his gaze back to the hobbit, "clear up this whole mess and put it behind us?"

Bilbo looked between them, his voice lost between what he had to say and what he _could_ say. Of all the things he wanted them to know, and all the things they needed to; he wondered if they would understand, or if his voice would be able to pick up and tell them. Once he got started, if he could, he wondered if he would be able to stop.

Eventually the silence broke, but it wasn't Bilbo who did it.

"Did the Blue Mountains explain what the treaty was?" it was Hamfast's quiet and somber demeanor that pulled the dwarves attention to him, with no small amount of confusion.

"No," Fili shook his head, the gesture slight, bordering on uncertain, "simply that Uncle Thorin was to marry a hobbit and protect him once he got to the mountain. He spoke of an ancient treaty between the Lonely Mountain and the king from Ered Luin. Nothing more than that."

"He spoke of a different treaty?" Primula asked, glancing between the dwarrows and the rest seated around her.

"Different treaty? You mean there was another?" Kili looked pointedly around until his eyes landed on Bilbo, who could not so much as remember his name let alone what to say. He thought of how his intended wouldn't so much as meet him until the wedding, and how Bilbo had simply thought it was a dwarvish custom. He hadn't considered that perhaps Thorin simply did not want to meet him. How he wasn't wanted.

"A treaty between the Blue Mountains, and the Shire," Bilbo's voice was strained, willing himself from wavering, but he could only keep his words so still. The prince's turned their attention back to him, eyes so bright and curious that it made his gut twist up, "stating that the dwarves were bound to protect and defend the hobbits of the Shire, as the hobbits had protected them many centuries ago."

The boys seemed even more confused than before, and so Bilbo found himself saying without thinking, "I had thought it was wolves that had come to attack our village," his throat felt dry as he spoke, but he could not stop himself now. They needed to know what had happened, this whole uncomfortable mess needed to be cleared up before it became any worse than it has. "I had never met a warg in my life until I tried leaving my home in Bag End."

Bilbo found himself telling the boys everything. From the warm breath of his mug and the sounds that had reverberated like a common beat of heart from outside his hobbit hole. He told them of how he had heard the screams and the how fresh the sight of the blood stained snow still tainted his memory; he told them of the Orc he had seen, stumbling messily from an eerily empty Smial, and about the blood matted blue flap of a dress hanging from his shoulder. When he spoke, he kept his eyes lowered, telling them of the travels, of how he had been named Thain of the Shire by mere unfortunate luck. Of the weeks they spent traveling through snow until the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains found them. Bilbo choked up when he spoke of the thousands lost, and the thousands more that were missing; he hadn't realized he'd been crying until a tentative hand brushed over his cheek, and it was then he remembered the audience he had, brushing away the hand to wipe at his cheeks with the back of his sleeve.

It took all the strength that Bilbo had left to spare to force his eyes upwards, and even more to hold the gazes of two prince dwarves that were staring at him with such a cold intensity. Kili's eyes were distant, his brows furrowed together and lips parted; he looked horrified. His cheeks looked pale and his mouth tight while Fili took on an expression far colder than his brother, his face shut off but his eyes- his eyes looked _furious_. Bilbo assumed that perhaps the dwarf thought he was lying, but Bilbo didn't know what he could say that would somehow convince him that what he said was the truth. He turned to Kili desperately, but the prince could barely seem to register the expression, looking as if he had been torn in two.

Bilbo found, at the mere sight of such distress, that he could not bring up the meeting and the treaty. Could not tell them of the ill that had fallen, and the little ones they had lost. His arms were shaking, his chest feeling hot and strained, curling around in his belly as a plague of despair wrapped its claim about him. Its hold tight and suffocating but Bilbo could not will the feeling away.

"Kili, we need to go." Fili's voice was cold, like the scraping of a knife against a looking glass. Kili looked ready to retort, but Fili's eyes snapped to him and they seemed to exchange a whole conversation without saying a word. They stood abruptly, yet before they could leave, Kili scooped down and yanked Bilbo to his feet. The hobbit stumbled but found himself in a tight embrace that pushed the air out of his lungs, winding him as much as it startled him even as the young dwarf moved away. They were gone in moments, leaving Bilbo at a complete and utter loss at what he was supposed to do.

The hobbits sat in solemn tense silence, clearly uncertain about the abrupt turn of events, but left unable to say a word of it. Speaking became something scarce, then completely obsolete when Primrose made a choked sound from where she was sitting, pulling Bilbo out of his own downward spiraling thoughts as he turned to look at her even though he wished he hadn't.

Primrose was looking towards the fire, or simply in that direction as her gaze was all but unfocused. Bilbo could trace the anguish in her eyes, as scrunched and nearly closed as they were, brows furrowed and tight, her lips twitching into a watery frown. The breath she took in was so painfully sharp and strained that Bilbo was at her side in a moment, pulling her from her seat as he wrapped his arms about her middle. His aunt buried her face against his shoulder when he hushed her and consoled her all in the same breath, arms tightening around him in weak desperation, crushing him when a broken sob muffled itself against the curve of his neck. Her cries were near silent beside the crack in her breath, and the hitch when she exhaled, legs giving way to which Bilbo fell to follow, holding onto her; afraid that if he were to let go, she'd finally shatter. A hand touched his shoulder, but he didn't have to look up to know Primula was at their side, murmuring under her breath to deaf ears that could not bring themselves to listen. Her hands were gentle, running along Primrose's back, while Bilbo brushed a hand through her hair, but all of it was for naught.

Bell was soon on the floor after Primula, crossing her legs mutely on the other side where she brushed her fingers through Primrose's hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. Hamfast took his seat beside Bell, while Falco and Drogo seated themselves closer by, still on chairs but close enough to be able to reach forward and touch if they needed to.

Bilbo could feel shaking, although he wasn't sure whether or not it was him or her doing it. Perhaps both if the hand pressed against his wet cheek was anything to go by. He stiffened his lip, sniffing, when he heard the muffled plea of Primrose's lips against his shoulder. A mantra of 'why's echo'd over and over, her hands digging into his back where her fists bunched up his shirt.

Her voice was cracked and raw, wavering weakly from her body wracking sobs, "Why did she have to go?" she pulled back from his embrace, but not too far to pull away completely, wiping uselessly at her eyes all the while, "why did they take her from me, why did they-" she cut off when another harsh sob bubbled out of her lips, her face falling into the palms of her hands, shoulders shaking, and spirit collapsed. Bilbo felt helpless to her sorrow, knowing there wasn't a thing he could do for a broken heart. Primrose had taken the loss of her beloved terribly, the light in her fading every day that passed when Eglantine wasn't by her side. Lost among the chaos in the Shire, never found after they had just barely escaped with their lives. Primrose blamed herself from not being by her side when the attack happened, resented how she had lost sight of her, separated by a warg and an army of Orcs that had been tearing their way through home after home.

There was no telling of her fate, but if Primrose had even the notion of her beloved still among the realm of the living, Bilbo wouldn't doubt for a second that she would tear her way through the gates of Mordor to be by her side again.

Primula leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Primrose's cheek, who in response let her hands fall to wrap around her belly. Bilbo grabbed the end of his sleeve, brushing at her tear stained cheeks, red and puffy was her skin, eyes as glassy as they were sad. Someone had handed her a handkerchief which she accepted in kind, blowing loudly out her nose before letting her hands tighten around her middle once again.

"Do not give up hope," Bilbo breathed, running his fingers forward and through her loosened hair. He grabbed the end of her nearly undone ribbon, pulling it out carefully and feeling as it slid out of the braids smoothly enough. "Not when we only have so much left to give." Grabbing her hand, he pressed the ribbon against her palm, curling her fingers around the woolen material with a silent promise; _maybe she escaped_ , he thought, and hoped that she understood what he left unsaid, _maybe she's mourning for you as you are for her._

She took the ribbon, brushing her thumbs over the length of it with a weak huff, but other than that made no other sound for the rest of the night.

With a sniff, Bilbo sighed, letting his hands fall to his own lap, feeling mightily drained and quite tired, but not ready to send them all away for the night. It didn't feel right, nothing did anymore now that he thought about it, with how this veil of mourning has yet to lift, even after being so far away from the tragedy, in both form and time. How it haunted them, wore them down to their bones and chiseled away at their very souls, making them older in spirit than they are in physical form. It wasn't something they could simply brush under the rug and move on. Not with so many souls still unburied, and so many prayers left unsaid.

It wasn't even just the Shire that had been lost. The Orcs that came down from the forests surrounding Hobbiton had not just taken a place, they had taken it's heart; they pillaged and destroyed _homes_. Living _breathing_ things that made the Shire what it was, and now it's simply gone. The tables that had food stains from spilt drinks from a child's clumsy hand, the walls that had height lines marked into the polished wood, the children's bedrooms now silent from hiccuped laughter and the wood floors now streaked with rubble and ash that once held up the padding of fauntling feet. All gone.

Bilbo thought of his armchair and his books, he thought of his garden and his kitchen, with his mother's old dishes he never had the heart to store away. He thought of his old pipe, and sitting out on his bench just outside of his hobbit hole while he smoked his Old Toby, practicing his smoke rings that rivaled that of Hugo Bracegirdle's who he met every other month or so for drinking and idle chatter. Bilbo thought of the way Bag End sat, facing towards the rising light of morning that would touch the ends of his home and warm his face, gently urging him to wake where his covers cocooned him, breathing the light of day into his lungs until he rubbed the bleariness from his eyes and kicked up and onto his smooth wooden floor. Now this, this was home. And it had been taken from him. And if there was a way to somehow get it back, then he would do it, but the notion seemed so impossible now, being as far away from his home than he's ever been before.

The warm rolling hills have gone cold, and for the first time in many years, the Shire will not be blessed with spring.

Bilbo heard the thudding steps before the knock ever rasped upon his chamber door. The hobbits around him looked to him silently, watching as Bilbo picked himself up and collected himself; brushing hands to smooth down his clothes, wiping at his cheeks and just simply _breathing_ when he stepped towards the door, not confident enough in his voice to call them in instead of what he was doing now. He pulled open the heavy door, peeking over the side to see who it was.

An older looking dwarf stood there, which Bilbo recognized as the adviser that had greeted them when they first arrived, and had given his blessing at the wedding. _Balin_ , he thought absently, was of a gentle sort. Calm and collected and kind in his mannerisms, Balin had warmed up to the hobbits the quickest, and the hobbits thus to him. Balin blinked at the door, as if having expected a call rather than the door to be pushed open for him. Regardless, he smiled pleasantly towards the hobbit, his expression kind but somewhat strained by an underlying urgency. Bilbo smiled back despite himself, opening his door a bit further.

"Master Balin," Bilbo greeted with a nod, "and to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Oh, please, Balin will do just fine," the dwarrow smiled curtly, uneasy over something before taking a breath, "would you mind coming with me, laddie?" Bilbo heard the slight shuffling from behind himself, and with Balin glancing behind him with a slight shake of his head only confirmed his thoughts, "..alone?"

Bilbo glanced over his shoulder to find Hamfast standing a few feet away, his head tilted to see through the door, eyes falling to land on Bilbo. He glanced between them only a handful of times before shaking his head. "We're in the middle of a family affair, if you'd 'scuse me Mister Balin sir, but Master Bilbo needs to be 'ere with his kin."

"I intend to return him after," Balin said after a moment, "there are some.. things in need of being cleared up, you see. Surely it'll be alright for him to be away for an hour or two?"

Hamfast seemed reluctant, but looked towards Bilbo for some sort of confirmation. Bilbo gave him a small nod, allowing Hamfast to relent, whom in return gave a short nod of his own before walking back to the group of huddled hobbits, settling back in his seat. Bilbo turned away when he saw Bell climbing to sit beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Balin stepped aside to let the hobbit through, the door sliding close behind them as they began their tread to, what Bilbo was beginning to suspect, the King's chambers.

"What's this all about?" Bilbo asked, despite having a clear idea of what it should be.

Balin was silent for some time, although Bilbo couldn't tell whether he was simply debating whether or not to answer or carefully considering his words, either way he finally opened his mouth with a quiet sigh, his shoulders falling to slouch a fraction. "I wish I knew, laddie," he gave, "the King requested I be sent for you, and muttered about some urgent business, though I can't say I know for sure."

Bilbo looked on to the oncoming doors with a sense of dread, "I have a feeling I may know."

Balin didn't ask nor look at him once he'd spoken, leading him the rest of the way in silence that was neither uncomfortable nor companionable; simply silence. The halls were vacant, which was a far sight to what they typically were, but Bilbo supposed that many were still down in the Feast hall, getting pleasantly intoxicated off mead and good stories. They were standing just before the archway far too soon than the hobbit would have preferred, feeling anxious as he clenched and unclenched his fists a few times at his sides. Balin stopped walking, allowing him to move on ahead, and that was when Bilbo realized that he was to head inside the lion's den alone.

Fear spiked in him in that moment. What had the boy's said? Had the come to their uncle to tell them that he's a liar and a beggar? Fili had been unreadable when he had left, and that feeling of uncertainty left him uneasy as he raised his fist to knock on the door. There was a still silence that enveloped him, the distant sound of the dwarfs retreated steps a null thing to his ears, once he heard the deep baritone of 'enter' muffle through the door. Bilbo's eyes dropped, falling to the tops of his fuzzy woolen toes as he built up his courage to push through the entrance. It groaned in resistance due to it's sheer size, but it moved cleanly open as he pushed with only a bit of effort. Bilbo dared not look up as he entered the room, not wishing to catch the king's eye if he could help it. Stepping inside with a puff of air as he allowed the door to slide close behind him.

Bilbo didn't have to walk very far until he saw the shift of feet just at the reach of his narrowed vision, glancing over with a shake of his head, ducking into a bow. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service."

"Master Baggins," he heard someone say, _the King_ he supplied absently, because even though he'd only heard him once, he'd recognize that reverberated thrum anywhere, "please, have a seat."

Bilbo glanced up briefly for a chair, noting there were three others in the room but didn't keep his gaze up long enough to figure out who was who. He knew the crown prince's were two of them, as well as their mother and his.. the _king_ was also somewhere in the mix, although he couldn't even begin to force his eyes skyward to see where. He scurried as respectively as he could to one of the nearby seats; a sturdy oak crafted stool that was placed just a bit off from the table it was clearly meant for. Pushing himself up to sit, his feet dangled ridiculously a few inches from the floor, feeling like a faunt preparing for a reprimanding rather than a grown hobbit in the face of adversary.

Nobody moved at first as he settled, the quiet a stretch of still air where not a soul breathed. It had been so deafening that he could easily pick up the sound of lips parting, the short intake of breath before the words flowed from stiff lips, like the rush of water from a stream; "My sister-sons tells me you have something important to tell us," he began, making himself a fixture within his vision, standing close enough to intimidate, but staying far from arm's reach. "It seems there is much to discuss, and we cannot allow this to go on any longer than it has, halfling."

In spite of the fear he had felt before, it had been nearly replaced by a flash of annoyance.

"You say that as if it had been my doing, and my doing alone." Bilbo spat, ignoring the Baggins in him that felt appalled by his horrible manners, but he couldn't bring himself to care. No, he was sick to death of being set to the side, of being push around and stomped on and most of all he was tired of being treated as second to last. He was a _Baggins_ of _Bag End_ thank you very much, and good morning! He deserved a great deal more respect than he has been receiving as of late, and this has been going on long enough. "I'll have you know that I would have been plenty happy to discuss this with you, have you not been so rude in avoiding me. I like to think I'm a reasonable hobbit, and on such a dire matter, would have actually _appreciated_ having someone to talk to."

Bilbo kept his eyes leveled with the ground, wanting nothing more than to look the king directly in the eye and tell him _exactly_ what he thought of this whole spectacle, but then he would remember that he's been avoiding doing that exact thing; looking at him, that is.

He breathed in shakily, steadying his trembling fists, "but no, you agreed, mind you, _cluelessly_ to a treaty you knew nothing about, and now, like it or not you are stuck with me," he sneered, "Stubbornness aside, you could have come and found me at _any_ point, but you avoided doing as such. So if anyone was putting off, it was you _O' King._ "

Bilbo could not say for sure what the King was thinking in that moment, considering he couldn't look up and see his expression. The silence a tense thing, heightened by the soft huff a little further off into the room; it was followed by a harsh whisper and soon there was shuffling. When the door to the room closed, it was then Bilbo realized that the Prince's had pulled their mother out of the room; whether it was to talk to her, or just a way for them to get away, Bilbo didn't know, but what he did know was that he envied them. They got to leave, while he was forced to stay in his spot, waiting for some backlash or something equally as cruel. He didn't expect Thorin to understand. How could he? He had a home, his family, and wealth to top it off. He was flourishing, while Bilbo had struggled to make sure his kin had food and a warm place to sleep at night. How could he expect a prospering King to understand the struggle of a commoner?

Though his frustration and outrage didn't outweigh the heaviness in his heart, nor did it quell the uneasiness that was starting to rise in his body. Thorin had yet to say anything as of yet, perhaps either too shocked or angry to come up with something to say, and Bilbo wanted nothing more than to leave and go back to his bed where he could bury himself in his sheets and perhaps tomorrow the King will forget he exists. He could sleep forever, and maybe one day he'll wake up and he'll be back in Bag End, and all of this had only been some horrible nightmare he'll eventually shake himself out of. He'll go back to his books, and his garden, and hide in his kitchen while those Sackville-Bagginses bang their fists against his front door as he pretends he isn't home.

Bilbo never thought in his life he would miss trying to hide his mother's silverware from Lobelia; yet, seeing her frustration and distaste was unquestionably better than the shell she had become in her mourning. Many of the hobbits had picked themselves up, but her whole world had been taken - _missing_ \- Bilbo corrected himself; although he doesn't miss their rivalry, as Bilbo had apologized and she had saved him a seat during supper, he misses that spark that used to be there -- not just in her, but in everyone. To be clear, he was sick of setting their suffering aside for a kingdom that has done nothing to help besides their own basic needs.

When Thorin moved forward, Bilbo half expected to feel the strike of an open palm.

What he hadn't expected was the gentle brush of fingers against his cheek, and even less the wet stain it had brushed away. Oh! Wonderful, of course he was crying. He had been doing so all day, and it seemed his body wasn't ready to quit just yet. Bilbo swatted at the king's hand, only half thinking, but Thorin removed his in place of Bilbo's own, who wiped at his cheeks in a somewhat pathetic manner.

Thorin seemed to hesitate, which Bilbo would have found surprising had he not known the circumstance. He supposes that if he were a dwarf king, he'd hesitate too if his hobbit spouse, that he's only met a few hours prior, began crying in his personal quarters. Though, Bilbo would claim, he wasn't really _crying_ ; just a few stray tears found their way out of his eyes, that's all. His breathing wasn't choked outside of the usual tightness of his throat, and he was far from sobbing in the arms of a King. Just emotionally drained from the day -or really, these past few months- and needed more time to collect himself.

Thorin seemed to agree on that, seeing as he's yet to make a sound. Yet, Bilbo wasn't having any of that, sniffing a few times as he shook his head.

"You called me down here, now for Yavanna's sake, say what you must and please let me return to my rooms."

Thorin still hadn't said anything for a few beats, until Bilbo heard the slight hitch in the others breathing, "Of course," there was some shuffling, and then, "come."

Bilbo risked a glance upward, only to see the Kings retreating feet, the sounds of soft thudding from each step echo'd in the room as he made his way towards the fire. Bilbo blinked a few times, sliding off of his stool before dutifully following several paces behind until Thorin took his seat on one of the two armchairs that rested before the fireplace. He couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship that went into designing a fireplace that luxurious, the sides trimmed with stones and precious metals, engraved and vast; _fit for a king_ , he thought, silly enough.

Avoiding taking a peek at his spouse had been a difficult task, but one of which he had set his mind to do regardless. At this point he was simply stalling, there was nothing more to it than that; he didn't really want to know who he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with. Didn't want to be able to trace the curve of his lips, or the arch of his brow, or whatever feature of his face that might catch his attention. He didn't want to look at them and feel resentment in his belly, or the blatant distaste in their expression. He knew he wasn't loved, and would never be loved, but seeing it, having that _proof_ wasn't something he believed himself to be ready for. At least, not yet, if ever.

He took his seat just seconds after Thorin had settled down, reclining himself until he was comfortable. It felt good to get off his soles and feel the pulse of the fire dancing just feet away from him. It was a comfort, but he didn't fool himself into believing that because of this comfort his guard should be down; he was still in the presence of a king, and a king that needed to know.. well, _something_. Bilbo could tell that perhaps the boys had yet to tell him of what happened in the Shire, for he's yet to bring it up; he could only hope that the prince's are taking their time now to at least explain to their mother what has happened. This constant miscommunication among dwarves was becoming both bothersome and entirely inconvenient, and it was about time they settled this nonsense and actually _discussed_ with one another. Ered Luin had, for no known good reason, kept the dwarrows from Erebor in the dark, and while perhaps they had good intentions (whatever those intentions may have been) they have done nothing but make it harder for the hobbits than it had to be.

Now he was here, with a king who needs answers but can't seem to bring himself to ask them, and Bilbo was getting restless with all this silence. Thorin didn't make a sound for some time. Bilbo began to think he never would, until he heard the soft drum of fingers against the armrest at the King's elbow.

"What do you know of dwarven ceremonies?" Thorin thrummed, his voice drifting in a calm that Bilbo wished he could grasp.

The questioned startled him, as he had been expecting more of 'why's and 'who's, rather than 'what's. The hobbit squirmed a little in his seat, glancing to his feet and then to the fire dancing just out of his reach.

"Nothing," he breathed, letting his teeth scrape over his lower lip, "I only know of what was expected of me today, and that there are more days to come in celebration. Other than that, I am still but an outsider looking in."

"Is that all?"

"That is all."

Thorin seemed to consider this, as there had been another stretch of silence, however cut shorter than his previous. "There are seven days of Ceremony," he began, his voice only hesitating a moment as he seemed to consider the best course of explanation, "the first, as you've seen, was the Receiving. The Receiving creates the bonds between two families, as the marriage is made a public affair for all to witness; for either family to receive you into the line and join their house." Bilbo thought to the dwarrows that had approached them after the vows, as blessings were given.

"And what of the other days?" he asked, feeling curious and oddly relieved that _someone_ was telling him these things. "what will happen then?"

"The second day, tomorrow," Thorin started with an inclined nod that Bilbo only saw at the corner of his vision, "doesn't have a formal name, but my people refer to it as Valor," he paused a beat, "Valor lasts three of the remaining six days. During this period of time, the head of the house, usually decided by the wealth of each family, must then prove that they can provide for their spouse. This can be through a series of things, depending solely on their trade."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, warriors, for instance, would have to show that they can protect and fight by their side, taking challenges of battle from their spouse's kin. Healers would prove that their capable of caring for their betrothed, chiefs and food merchants would make these grand feasts for their intended so that they shall never starve, toymakers and tinkers would create something to show their skill, whereas miners and smiths would create a weapon of choice to both show their skill and signify their confidence in the weapon they've created to protect their beloved when they are not around to do so themselves. There's.. more, to each trade, that these days will push and test to prove that they are worthy of the hand they have asked for. Much would have already been exploited during the duration of their courting, however."

Bilbo mulled this over a moment, "and, what of kings?"

Thorin was quiet, then, "as King, it is my duty to treat you to the kingdom you now reside. Clothes made of the finest material my kingdom has to offer, and shower you in the most precious of gems. I am to give you the finest tools related to your trade, which would show your kin that I understand and respect your craft, regardless now of your title as my Consort and your standing beside Erebor's royalty. To show the kingdom how precious the Consort is to the King, as this would become the last public display of affection the Ceremony offers, as my father had and my grandfather before him."

"Oh dear, that sounds rather excessive," Bilbo chewed at his lower lip, frowning at the thought, "perhaps we can forgo the gems and riches and all that rubbish. I can't say I mind the bit about the clothes, but other than that, this bead and silly crown are more than plenty to receive, so I should think."

Surprisingly, the king seemed to choke on that, "what?"

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably, feeling the other's scrutinizing eyes on him, "Ah, well," Bilbo coughed awkwardly, "hobbits don't need all that extra splendor. You've given my kin and I all that we could ever hope for, besides our.." Bilbo shook his head, "ah, well you've given us warm food and a nice bed, and had even been careful to give us our required seven meals a day. I don't think we need much more than that, outside of good company of course."

The silence that surrounded Thorin seemed to fester with bewilderment for a few moments, and if he wasn't a man of regal mannerism, he might have sputtered. "You only list what we provide for your people's basic needs of survival," he murmured uncertainly, "needs are not of any concern, but surely you want something other than clothes?"

Bilbo smiled sadly to the fire, shaking his head curly head and remembering the flowers that are still woven atop his curls, "I apologize if this offends you, O' King. But there shan't be a thing you could ever offer me nor give me that would be what I truly desire. For it is not in your power to give it."

If Bilbo had been paying attention, he might have seen the other tense, "you desire another." and he said it as if it were a statement, rather than a question.

Bilbo honestly should have expected a response such as that, but it didn't cushion the ache he felt at the sound. Thorin didn't know, so really, he couldn't blame the dwarf.

"No," he said instead of elucidating, because what he wants to say he cannot put into words and it's killing him. "No, I was a bachelor before being sent to the Lonely Mountain, and a bachelor I would have stayed for perhaps years to come."

"Then what do you want?" the king's voice grew softer, maybe even urgent, but that was perhaps due to not enjoying being in the dark. A king needs to know things, and not knowing was likely causing a great deal of discomfort on the royals end.

 _What do I want?_ Bilbo thought to himself bitterly. _Why, I want to go home._

Personally, he thought, he wanted too much. He wanted the Shire, to be back in the west, and to see those rolling hills one more time. He wanted his pipe, and his mother's silverware, and his small collection of books. He wanted his garden, and his gardening tools. He wanted his coats, and bed, and to wake up in Bag End for at least one more morning, where he can truly treasure the sunlight against his face, and relish the scent of his freshly washed linen sheets that smelled of the breeze that they had dried in.

He wanted his home back, and his way of life. He wanted to maybe one day write a book and perhaps settle down with a respectable lad that made him laugh; someone to share his smial with, whom was a lively conversation, and to warm his bed at night. He wanted the chance to decide who he was going to court, and who he was going to marry. He wanted to look his beloved in the eyes and know that this was the person he had decided to spend the rest of his life with, that this was the person he would give up the world for; he wanted the chance to love and be loved. Thorin couldn't give him that. No, the king could give him gifts and presents and jewels the envy of every eye that becomes drawn their way, but he couldn't give him the emotional support he wanted, and he doubted he could provide the king with much the same. Their marriage would be a hollow thing, founded on petty items that do no such good. You cannot share a laugh with a coin, nor could you enjoy the companionship of a diamond. They were simply trinkets, and nothing more than that.

"I want to be where the hills roll and where the land is lush and soil fresh," he hummed faintly, his voice sounding far away to his ears. "where I lived at the end of a bag, but no bag went over me."

"That is not what I asked."

"It is exactly what you asked," Bilbo sighed, "it is simply not as direct as you wish."

"You speak in riddles," Thorin growled dismissively, "dancing around the question. So I will ask again. What do you _want_?"

Bilbo snorted, thinking nothing of Thorin's status or of the manners his mother and father instilled in him to never forget.

"I want you to tell me what comes after Valor, and then perhaps we'll talk." Thorin found himself rather perplexed at the outburst, but seemed to think better of retorting. Instead he growled, low and deep in his throat, spitting out a 'as you wish' before falling silent. Bilbo knew he'd speak eventually, so stayed quiet himself; more out of sheer stubbornness than lack of something to say.

"Fifth day," Thorin began with a sobered temper, but Bilbo was certain it had something to do with keeping himself in check, rather than no longer being angry. "and the sixth day are bound together, as a day of shared loyalty and trust. We are to commence in battle between one another, and fight."

Bilbo choked on air, " _excuse me?_ "

Thorin seemed unconcerned, "not to the death, halfling. We are not heathens, and what purpose would a death battle be during a marriage ceremony? No, the battle is to show one another an equipoise, or stability. Balancing their weaknesses, and pushing their strength. Trusting that the other blade with not pierce the skin, or bring harm to their partner in arms."

"To show you trust each other, you _attack_ each other?" Bilbo asked incredulously, "why! I've only ever sought violence once, and that was out of panic! I can assure you that I hold a sword as well as you dwarrows can hold a fork at supper, which is just _barely_."

A beat, and then, "you've been in a fight?"

Bilbo paused at that, his hands stilling over the scruff of his knees. _Oh dear._ He hadn't meant to say that.

"Not a fight, per say," Bilbo said carefully, looking at nowhere in particular, feeling his heart pick up, "more of a.. more of a defense. He was going to-" _Bilbo could see Drogo Baggins and his dear wife Primula huddled behind a large ale barrel; Drogo was holding a small trowel and even from that distance, Bilbo could still see how his arm shook, his face horrified. Bilbo made out the dark silhouette of a sickly broad Orc fumbling forward..-_ Bilbo felt a surge of nausea unsettle his stomach, his chest clenching, "I- I couldn't, I couldn't leave them."

"Master Baggins?"

Bilbo's breath was coming in short and thick, the air around him suddenly unbearable to breathe, "If I.. If I had left them. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself, you understand that, don't you? I never meant- I mean, I've never _killed_ before. But I've also never been in much contact with- with Orcs, but I..-" he could hear the pop where his tool had sliced into its back, and he's almost certain it severed it's spinal cord, but he tried desperately not to dwell on it. The more he did, the sicker he became, because really, nothing deserved to die like that, but his family did not deserve the fate that creature had in mind, either. It made him queasy, and Bilbo hadn't realized he had curled up in himself, clutching his stomach painfully until he felt two strong hands steady him.

The heat that radiated from them startled him. Seeping through and warming his bones with his touch that Bilbo didn't have the fight left in him to pull away; instead, his head ducked, hands balled up at the knees of his pants, shaking in fury and hatred and fear and distress as he fumbled stupidly for air he could just barely breathe. Thorin was hunched over at the foot of his seat, crouched and nearly on his knees as he held the hobbit in place, keeping him from teetering any more than he already has. Bilbo could see his chest, clad in thick Durin blue wool that he saw the princes wear, lined in some sort of bracing as a sort of displacement armour. Bilbo glanced away, tracing the outline of regal wear in his thoughts when he realized Thorin had been talking.

Bilbo shook his head, coughing, "M'sorry..-?" he heard the king say his name, and Bilbo reached his hand to the king's upper arm to squeeze in reassurance, hushing him as he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, your majesty, I didn't-" he faltered when Thorin said something he didn't quite catch, "I didn't mean to startle you, I'm alright, just off, is all."

"You said Orc," Thorin seemed to murmur more to himself than to Bilbo, "was there an attack on the caravan? The dwarrows you were traveling with hadn't said anything about any Orc scavengers."

"It's come to my attention that the dwarves from Ered Luin hadn't said much of anything, apparently." Bilbo muttered, and at the silence he received in response was answer enough of what he feared. With a shaky huff, he frowned towards the fire just over the dwarrows shoulder, "no, no the Orc I attacked was months ago, O' King."

Thorin didn't say anything for some time, so Bilbo continued with a frown, brushing the dwarrows hands away after a considerably quiet minute. The only sound came from the crackling of the fireplace, and although his hands had been pushed, Thorin made no notion to pick himself up from his crouched position, and Bilbo hated the way he could feel his eyes bore into him.

Frustrated, Bilbo hissed out, "Honestly, why _do_ you think I am here if not for Orcs? Do you think I'm here for the money too? For all your precious little trinkets and the throne? Do you think I have come to - to _assassinate_ you or come as a - a homeless beggar from the streets?" Bilbo sneered, pushing roughly to his feet, stomping inches from the fire, "or _maybe_ you believe Lady Dis, and think I'm some harpy! That I'm weak, and unworthy, and know _nothing of loss!_ " Bilbo spun himself to the other, shouting the last bit with his hands balled up into tight fists, almost making the mistake of looking at the king in the eye but caught himself mere seconds before. "Is it so..-" he pressed his lips together tightly, "so.. _hard_ to talk? To ask questions? You have every reason to know why this has happened, and yet you never asked me, and were never told."

"Then tell me," Thorin's voice sounded tight, strained even, "tell me why you're here."

"Did you not hear me? I already told you!"

"You said Orcs, but did not elaborate-"

" _Elaborate?_ " Bilbo threw his hands in the air, "What _more_ must I say for you to understand!? The Orcs came in the night and _destroyed_ everything! Why do you think I keep calling the Shire the Lost Hills, huh? How specific do you want me to be? Would you like it if I described the blood stained snow, or the burning Smails? About how thousands of my kin are still missing, and most likely _dead_ and how I was only able to secure a mere hundred survivors? Do you want to hear about how I can barely _sleep_ at night because all I can think about is maybe we had left someone behind that was screaming for help, and how many hobbits had been left fast asleep for those foul creatures to do as they please?

"So we ran!" he shouted, "we ran for days, frightened, hurt, and in mourning as everything we ever had was taken from us. I wasn't even Thain! Our _actual_ Thain had been killed, and so had all of his heirs up until me, so I'm still _impossibly_ new to this! And everything has just been piling up and piling and all I had wanted was for my people to not be afraid anymore. I didn't want them to worry about freezing or-or _starving_ , but found myself trapped in this.. this ancient agreement I didn't know a thing about! The next thing _I_ know I'm being sent across the map to a mountain I've never even _heard_ of to marry a monarch!" Bilbo knew he was shaking, he could feel the ghosts of it shooting up and down his spine and through his arms, "I don't even know _why_ it had to be you! I don't know why they didn't force me to marry some- some lord in the Blue Mountains so at least we could be close to our home, and maybe have some semblance of hope that perhaps one day we may be able to reclaim it.

"We're _lost_ , O' King," Bilbo sniffed, sounding both desperate and angry, urging him to understand, "we're so far away from home, and we're sick with grief. So, that's why we're here. We're here because King Droic knew we'd be safe here, and perhaps because he didn't trust us not to turn right back at the first opportunity to go home. Because that's where we belong. I didn't want this, and I certainly didn't want to force your hand either, but it seems neither one of us has any say in what our futures hold anymore."

When he felt he could say little more, he dropped his face into the palms of his hands; exhausted and drained, Bilbo slumped. Some part of him, his Baggins half, scolded him for saying more than he had to; there was no reason for him to be so upset with the King. He didn't know, and wasn't to blame. He was just..- just _so_ confused and guilt ridden, he didn't know what to do with himself anymore. He hated how he had been able to walk away when so many hadn't. What gave him the right to prosper, while so many were still missing, still gone? Why did he have to survive where Primrose's wife had not? And what of Lobelia's husband and child? What of the parents who would have given anything to see their children again, and the orphans left without someone to properly care for them?

"You asked me," Bilbo started, rubbing the base of his thumb against his eyes, "what I wanted, hadn't you?" Thorin didn't respond. Bilbo hadn't expected him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))) Bilbo still has no idea what Thorin looks like; I hadn't intended for it to last this long, but he can't avoid it forever, and we still have Thorin's reaction to all of this to come. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. ^^


	5. Kings Spear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading through your guy's comments was such a highlight, like seriously, thank you. All of you are so sweet and kind, and I wish I could write these much faster for all of you, but I'm grateful for your patience and for all your support. So, again, thank you, and I hope you enjoy. ^^ 
> 
> A/N: Wowie, alright, that took about (exactly) a year to come back to lmao I'm sorry guys. I swear I'll never let that happen again, a lot happened in that year and I've been extremely incapable of forcing myself to get back to this. I still have big plans for this story, I'm not giving up on it, and the wait between chapters shouldn't be so awful next time. Also, kind of shorter when compared to the others, but each chapter varies from one to the next. I need to get back into the swing of the characters before putting out the full length chapters again.
> 
> Kings Spear: Regret.

It was quiet for such a long time.

It wasn't the sort of quiet that lingered around the corners of a linen scented and body warmed bed, where the morning was beginning to drift above the horizon and the haze of the night still had its bleary grasp on all their sleepy heads. It wasn't the quiet of an afternoon, belly filled and pipe settled on his lips, with fingers brushing over the edges of a well used novel; nor was it the breath of a breeze in the stillness of night, where he can hear the muffled fiddle and happy laughter from somewhere far past the Party Tree. Where the grass was warm under his toes and he's finished with his garden for another day.

No, this quiet was sharp.

It was the hollowness that followed a day after a tragedy, where no words could be spoken, and no smiles justified. It was the loudness that filled his ears when not a sound could be heard, where his heart beat drowned out any possible voice that could try to speak. Where speaking became cruel with words their vivid sting. Silence was the terrified quiver in his body, that tightened up his chest and made his sweat run cold; it was the heart in his throat that he couldn't shake that sinking feeling from, that made him feel sick and weak and bitterly hopeless as he had when he had first learned he was to be Thain to a suffering folk. It was a roaring tide that's dragging him under, and all he wanted was to feel the sun on his face again.

It lingered and festered and sank its very claws into his body, tearing away at his resolve where his irritation and frustration from before began to melt back into a sense of horror he wasn't ready to face. Bilbo felt as if he had been phasing through for the past few months, but now he felt completely blind; stripped and isolated, and deathly aware of the eyes boring into him as if they could somehow spark a match and devour him in flame. Bilbo didn't know how the king was regarding him, whether it was in horror, or anger, or perhaps annoyance, he could not say. The air felt tense, stiff, forlornly musky around them. Bilbo thought that if this were to last, that perhaps he might be able to slice a butter knife through the air and lather it on toast if he felt so inclined, as he could hardly breath it in.

It stretched and lasted and no words were spoken. Thorin was as still as stock, that if Bilbo hadn't been painfully aware of his presence, it would have seemed as if he were alone in the room altogether.

The fire no longer brought him warmth, as it rarely did these days, the air turned bitterly cold and stale in its wake. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad, Bilbo thought with a desperate sort of urgency, if Thorin would actually _say_ something! Yell at him, accuse him of lying and bottom feeding for all Bilbo cares at this point, as long as Thorin _spoke_ as this silence was doing nothing but chip away at what little resolve he had left to salvage. He could only take so much; from loss to sorrow, to being blamed and despised for something they didn't understand. He was clinging by mere threads at this point, and even then his grip was losing it's hold and he felt as if he were dying.

"Your highness," his voice came out too softly for his ears, below a whisper where the sound was nothing more than a wispy breath. He tried again, swallowing down the thick mass that's welled up in his throat, coming out shaky and raw to his hears, a quiet, desperate plea, "Thorin?"

Still, the king under the mountain hadn't said a word. Hadn't so much as breathed as far as Bilbo could even tell.

Bilbo had been so focused on nothing and everything at once, he hadn't heard the hitch of the kings breath before he opened his mouth to speak. His voice a rumble as sharp as it was weak, startling the hobbit at its complete suddenness; at its urgency. "Will you not look at me?"

Bilbo recognized a demand when he heard one, but he also recognized a plea when it was presented to himself as well. His answer was simple. "No."

The silence ebbed on, but it was broken far quicker than the one before. "Is this my punishment?" Bilbo hadn't had the chance to register what was being said as heavy shoes seemed to moved forward a foot or two; shuffling, careful. Hushed in a way that dwarrows typically were not. "For the crime I have committed against your people? For the crime I have committed against you?"

Crime? "Ignorance isn't a crime," Bilbo's voice wasn't as steady as it had been. If anything, it's gotten worse, "you couldn't have known. You could not have possibly known."

More steps, "Master Baggins-"

"Bilbo," the hobbit snapped, fingers clenching at his sides, "my name is Bilbo."

Thorin stopped, his breath going still as well as the room with it. He couldn't hear the steady hum from the air ducts; couldn't see the light of the fire casting shadows around his feet. Bilbo was becoming sick of the pauses between breaths, the lengths that stretched on with quickening beats of his heart, and the shaky exhale between each passing moment where neither had the courage nor willpower to speak first.

Shock, that's what Bilbo thinks it is. Thorin is in shock.

Some unsavory part of Bilbo thinks ' _good_ ' with no little amount of bitterness. However, another part, a fainter, gentler section of him nudged at him softly. In something he could only express as being a fathers gentle disappointment, and a mothers simper sadness. Regret is at his forefront, as is guilt, and hurt. Thorin hasn't done anything wrong, Bilbo had to remind himself. Thorin isn't to blame; it would be unfair, and Bilbo still has his propriety if not his pride. He felt he has little respectability to speak of outside of general goodwill, however, and lets the bitterness rest in his gut because he's angry and rightly so. It isn't right, but as far as he's seen, nothing is right anymore; everything's upside down and make shift and nothing is as it should be. He's tired and bitter, but most of all he's hurt, and for once it feels good for him to share that burden with someone who hasn't experienced such horror first hand. Give it away like an unwanted gift that the other has unwittingly accepted, and now there's nothing left but to wait and share this bitter knowing between them without words and without pity.

It feels hollow to the touch, and Bilbo doesn't even have to lift a finger.

He revealed too much, he thinks to himself, too much was said too soon, but not soon enough. It was as if he were standing at a forest's edge, looking onto the shadows coveted by the twist of branches and thickness of leaves untouched by the wind; looking into the depths and something was looking back.

It is the sound of a blade that brings Bilbo's thought's to the present.

 _Oh dear he's going to kill me,_ is the first thing that passes his mind but reason tells him that's ludicrous. Curiosity get's the best of him as he glances upward only momentarily at hearing Thorin seem to drop, his shoulders tense as he see's the top of the Kings head; crown nowhere in sight, head hung low, on his knees and before him with his arms stretched out. He's holding his sword, offering it to the hobbit. Bilbo stood there confused, looking between the top of the kings head and the blade, thinking he was suppose to grab it, but for what purpose he didn't truly understand.

"Take it," Thorin said after the pause seemed to stretch, "I cannot remedy my wrongdoings unless you take it."

Bilbo looked at him incredulously, "And do.. _what_ exactly with it, your highness?"

Thorin let out a breathy exhale, his hair swaying as his head shook gently, "what you must."

Bilbo stared at the royal, the _King_ , kneeling before him in startled wonder. His eyes dancing back between the dwarvish blade, angular and sharp. Bilbo felt his fingers twitch at his sides, but his determination held him. With a frown he reached forward, his fingers brushing against the flat of the sword. It was cold to the touch, metal as smooth as glass but far less likely to snap under pressure he imagined. Bilbo knew little of weapons, but he knew enough of their capacity to be gentle around one.

Bilbo hesitated, but wrapped his fingers around the handle, lifting it heavily into his hands. Thorin let his arms drop, shoulders tense, waiting, expecting, but Bilbo wasn't finished with him yet. With a grunt, Bilbo lifted the sword high above his head, and just as quickly, with as much strength as he could muster, threw it as far across the room as he could. The impending crash that followed had Thorin startled to the point of almost jumping back to his feet, and there, in that moment, they were familiar strangers; new and unusual, but known and Bilbo needed to be heard. Thorin looked up to the hobbit in complete shock; Bilbo wasn't prepared to see the distress etched there, the confusion -- and Thorin, he was..-

 _A dwarf_ , some rather unhelpful part of his thoughts supplied. However Bilbo can't recall ever seeing a dwarf with such a fine delicate nose, his cheekbones sharp, lips thin, his jaw strong and angular which only seemed to enhance Thorin's thin face. His eyes, _oh_ his eyes were such a deep blue, like the streams back in Hobbiton on a particularly grey afternoon. Back when the grass was dewy and the leaves were mostly fallen, and it was such a nice time of the year to sit by the docks and watch the ducks titter about along the river. Thorin's face was darkened by the shadows from the fire, but the hobbit could still make out the distinct braids that were interlocked through his dark coarse hair.

 _He doesn't look a day over 50!_ Bilbo thought deliriously. He knew Dwarves lived rather long lives, but to look this young well into his hundreds!

Bilbo blinked once, staring. Everything he had planned to say, every harsh word, every demand, every single argument and shout he had wanted to scream in the kings face had melted out of him. All that certainty of what he wanted, of what he had to do left him as a puff of smoke would if someone had left all the windows agape. The silence was awkward and loud, deafening uncertainty was rank between them, stuffy and thick but the air seemed to be thinning, he couldn't seem to breath in enough. Thorin stared at him, his brows furrowed.

"I..." Bilbo looked between the king and his thrown sword, thinking he might have made some sort of high offense in dwarvish culture, but managed to keep his ground. "No, no I won't do it. No more death."

It was Thorin's turn to blink at him, "Master Baggin's..-" he shook his head, "I wasn't asking you to cut my throat."

"You might as well have been with what you offer," Bilbo retorted shakily, looking towards Thorin in frustrated exasperation, "I understand little about you dwarves, yet you forget so easily that we've lived in the company of your kind for months. I know what you ask, I understand, but this is exactly what I was trying to tell you to begin with. You forget that I am still a Hobbit. You offered me your sword, what do you suppose I should have reacted? How easily your offer could have been misinterpreted from an outsider?"

"And yet it wasn't," Thorin leveled his eyes at the other, "you have been watchful, tolerant, learning what you can when we have been nothing but cold to you and your people. What you do not understand is that, what I have committed as king, is a crime of the highest offence. To treat refugees as prisoners, we are not like the elves, secretive or not we owe it to Mahal for granting our species a chance for asylum when we were first created, and it is with this that we should have granted unto you." Thorin pushed to his feet, never breaking contact, "The dwarves of Erebor know better than most what it's like to lose our home to something out of our control, and to allow such depraved behaviour go on to victims of such an attack is not something to be taken lightly, which should reinforce why this must be done."

Bilbo narrowed his gaze, "I'll have you know I'm quite frankly tired of you dwarves speaking so obtusely. An apology would have sufficed, and asking your.. _newly wed_ to chop off your beard is absurd and I won't have it. Despite what you seem to think, I am reasonable, and this was was completely out of your power and out of your reach to, apparently, find out why you were being strapped along to all of this..- mess." Bilbo let his shoulders drop, hands moving in semi circles, "I, I don't understand it any more than you do. One minute I was sitting at my fireplace in my comfortable Smial at Bag End, and next thing I know we're in the hands of our neighboring dwarven kingdom who simply promised us that they would honour some silly old treaty. They packed us up, sent us hundred of miles towards the East and left us here with nothing more than frivolous promises and their condolences. This marriage was as out of my hands as I assumed it was for you, and for that your highness, I- I apologize."

When Thorin didn't respond right away, Bilbo continued, "I realize this must be an awful lot for you to take in. While I am admittedly furious of the horrible suspicion thrown our way, I am still...- well, I am still thankful that despite all of this, your people have provided for us, taken care of us, tolerated our seemingly strange habits and given us so much more than we could have ever asked for. I would also like to say I am grateful, for the time you have also given us to grieve where before we could only look forward without rest. Even if this was, admittedly, unintentional, I would say it was dearly needed and you have done plenty to forget that silly blade and we will simply move past this."

Looking the the dwarven King in the eyes was, perhaps, the politest thing to do but not exactly in his best interest. Bilbo didn't often leave someone speechless unless they were one particular Sacksville-Baggin's, though even now he no longer derives pleasure from something that use to be quite common on the doormat of Bag End. Thorin's eyes were stunning but something in them made him look truly old; heavy wasn't exactly the word for it, but it was close enough to explain the feeling. Sunken, tired, and alone. As regal a king as he were, he was still a person, and Bilbo dropped an alarming amount at his feet. Trying to understand, to calculate, to plan and organize as a king ought to in situations he's unfamiliar with; though the hobbit doesn't doubt he's trying to let the dust in the room finally settle before trying to piece together some coherent sentence worthy of the mouth of royalty.

Thorin, as it seemed, had little time to worry about such formalities.

"You are a peculiar creature, Master Hobbit," he rumbled, almost thoughtfully, "Elve's, dwarves, and men alike would not have hesitated with the blade as you have so thoughtlessly cast it."

"Well," Bilbo sniffed, "I am no elf, dwarf, nor man. I am a Hobbit. A Baggins from Bag End, and- and I certainly wouldn't say thoughtless."

Thorin gave him a long pensive look, "No," he finally said, "perhaps not."

There seemed to be no more to say and what needed to be said, the words simply would no longer come. Bilbo shifted from foot to foot, feeling awkward. There was so much left needed to discuss, so much more that needed to be addressed and dealt with. This is his _spouse_ now, or so to speak. His estranged partner with whom he had no way of trying to amend things other than to be open. Bilbo looked longingly at the others hair for only a moment, imagining the kinds of blues he would have loved to have been able to place atop the others crown; but he shook away the thoughts and let his eyes drift to his feet.

Thorin was the first to break the silence.

"Master Baggins," he began, but his words felt final, "there is much I have to do, in light of these circumstances, and although I cannot change what has been done, I can assure you I will make right what is in my power to do so. You are a victim of an act of war against your kind, a refugee, and now you are my consort. It is my duty," he kept his eyes steady, looking directly into the hobbits with an intensity Bilbo was momentarily surprised to feel, "and my honour, to ensure that your needs and the needs of your many are dealt with accordingly. I shall send word to the Blue Mountains, and I promise you I will try to get to the bottom of this act of treason against the kingdom-"

"Wait, treason?" Bilbo shook his head but Thorin held up a hand.

"Do not worry, this will not result in a war. The Blue Mountains have been kind to us, but to withhold information as incredible as this must be accounted for and dealt with. I will send for an embassy to be sent to the mountain, and we'll sort this matter out." Thorin looked towards the heavy doors of his room, "It is, unlike King Droic to do something like this. I understand he may have his reasons, but to simply trust that we would find out on our own rather than directly explaining is unlike him."

Bilbo frowned, "Not to be cross, but I'd say you dwarves are rather tight lipped."

If Thorin was offended, he didn't show it. "You have a lot to learn about our culture, Master Hobbit," he went on instead, "you have a lot to prepare for."

Bilbo's shoulders slumped, "Good gracious you dwarves are relentless. Are you at least planning on sending assistance my way, or are you assuming I already know what's expected of me?"

Thorin waved a hand gently, "I'll send for you in the morning. We've much to discuss, however, it is late and I have letters to prepare. I'll have Balin escort you to your room."

Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, there was still far too much in the air as of this moment but Thorin was already walking off. He called over towards the door, and only a moment after was Balin standing there, patiently waiting for instruction. He didn't comment as Thorin walked towards his discarded weapon, carefully placing the blade back into his holster.

"Balin," Thorin addressed, "escort Master Baggins back to his chambers, we're finished for now."

"Of course," Balin looked towards Bilbo, who seemed to be between following orders or staying out of defiance because _damn him_ they are not _finished!_ ; eventually the courtesy got the best of him, knowing better than to overstay his welcome, although he did so with great hesitance and dissatisfaction, he finally made his way towards the door. Thorin gave Balin the instruction to return after he's finished for an "important matter" but left it at that as the two of them eventually closed the door behind them. The hall was, thankfully, empty as they made their way back to the hobbit's chambers, and Balin had the decency not to ask what happened. ' _Probably supposes it's considered royal business, or is already planning on hearing an earful of it once he returns_ ' Bilbo thought hazily, strung out. The walk back was a daze he barely remembers and when he blinks he is only vaguely surprised to find himself already standing in front of his door. 

"Thank you, Balin," Bilbo said kindly, his hand on the knob but turned to face the dwarf who gave him a contented look, "this all must seem so strange to you."

"Laddie," Balin gave him a careful nod, "in my line of work all sorts of things will seem strange. Erebor isn't in short supply of the odd and the peculiar, and you'll soon see a good bit of it, now with the position you are in." He gave the hobbit a small smile, "now, rest up. You have a busy day ahead of you, and it would be unbecoming of the Consort to be in a state."

 _Consort_ , Bilbo thought, _you're married now, aren't you? Really married._ "Well, yes. You're right. Good night."

"Good night." Balin turned and left, leaving Bilbo alone with his troubles.

It took a long while before he ever found the courage to open the door, to find it empty and abandoned, his family long since left, and Bilbo couldn't have felt more alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you guy's have been waiting for the reactions (more to come when it comes to that -) but also, finally, Bilbo, after four chapters, looks up. His reaction's as good as any, or so I should think. Thank you for reading! :)
> 
> //also, this had been sitting in my drafts for a lot longer than it was supposed to; I can give all the reasons for that, but there really isn't an excuse other than I just couldn't. I hope you all enjoyed!


	6. Hydrangea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I told you I wouldn't give up on this fic, but this past year ended up just _happening_ and a lot of my writing was forced to be put on hold. I won't bore any of you with the details, but I'm hoping I can have more time to spare this story. I have lots planned for it, and I don't mean to keep taking several months between updates (over a year for this one, my god). I have so many chapters already written out and practically ready, but they needed read-over and edited and I haven't had time. Thank you all for your incredibly uplifting messages and thank you for tolerating this delay. Enjoy!
> 
> Hydrangea: perseverance

Bilbo awoke with a rush of cold near paralyzing his spine.

He jolted forward, heart racing and breath as laboured as it was harsh. His eyes darted about his quarters towards the fireplace, long since barren of warmth. Bilbo breathed harshly through his nose, but kicked out of his heavy comforters, moving his feet off the edge of the bed with one swift, if not shaky, motion. He slid to the cold stone underfoot, body shuddering of more than just the chill. He thought he could see the ghostly whisper of his breathing, but it never dissipated before his eyes and knew something in his head was all wrong. Half dreaming, half awake. The room shifted around him, claws crawling out from under the bed, his ankles gripped and pulled but he never moved. He couldn't think straight.

Bilbo shuddered and thinned his lips, forcing his feet forward. He aimed to reach the armchair on the far side of the room but stopped short in the center, only feet away from reaching the woolen rug carpeting his rather small living area. _This isn't right_ , Bilbo thought, _I don't belong here. Why am I here?_ He glanced around, looking and seeking but no answer came to him. Refused to surface and allow him to at least understand. Bilbo sighed in frustration.

"Understand what?" he frowned to himself, "understand death? Understand morality and why terrible things happen?" Bilbo swallowed thickly, wrapping his arms around his soft middle with a shake of the head. His curls fell over his eyes, beads softly moving before his ears as an ever-reminding weight of everything wrong in the world.

Rubbing at his nose in irritation, he gritted his teeth.

"What did I do?" he asked, voice heavy and thick. "What did I _do?_ "

 _What could I do?_ Bilbo turned towards the heavy doors leading to the outer hall, _Why am I always waiting for some silly dwarf's instruction?_

The hobbit frowned deeply, brows narrowed in thought. "I am a Baggins," he spat, "A Baggins from Bag End. I am respectable, I am..- I am going to _leave_ this room, and I am going to go on a _walk_ and I am going to..- I'm going to-" Bilbo let out a frustrated whine, "I'm-" his shoulders shook, "I can't."

 _Leave_ , Bilbo wanted to scream, _escape this place_. The kingdom will care for his kin, he thought, they will be cared for and they don't need him any more. He did his duty and got them here, he escaped with the refugees and lead them to the mountain. They're safe because of him, and now he should go.

 _But where?_ Some rather unhelpful part of his thoughts asked. _Where would you hide? Where would you run, you small thing?_ The hobbit felt his lip quiver, stiffening it stubbornly. _You have no place to go but further into the mountain, and you will be found._ The Shire is gone. His home is gone. There's nothing out there for him.

Without much of a second thought, Bilbo reached to grab the robe hanging off its holding place by his bedside, tightening it's rope around his middle once his arms were snugly through. Feet padding near silently against the cool stone floor, he, as quietly as he could muster, opened his large chamber door. It made no noise as the heavy thing swung open with some force, thought had it made a creek nobody would have heard; Bilbo noted the empty halls with some surprise and trepidation. With a sigh, he moved quietly though the halls, all dimly lit or almost entirely in darkness depending one where he stopped; now this, this was familiar to him.

Ered Luin was a beautiful underground maze for the short time he resided there. He was free to roam and see the markets and speak to the merchants and miners as well as he pleased. The halls were simple in the old kingdom, thought clearly love had been placed into each edge of the city, Bilbo did have to admit the craftmenship in this mountain was lacked subtly, it was a home that held heart. It was hard to find his own to admire it, but bitterness welled in his belly and he forced his eyes to his feet.

Everything was so quiet.

Bilbo wished he was more grateful of it.

Uneasily, he hummed. Low and high, off tune and distracted. Everything felt so empty. Idly picking at the skin around his fingernails he stepped through corridor after corridor, noise was so far away if ever there at all. The hum of the air ducts was late night company until he found what it was he was looking for.

A very small door.

Technically, Bilbo hasn't been _specifically_ searching for this _exact_ door. Escape was escape and a door which lead to fresh air was as much as an escape as any, regardless if he's able to leave the mountain or not. The knob was smooth and chilled as he turned and shoved the heavy thing agape. The rush of cool air was immediate, the breeze whistled at the edges until he was able to force it open, even if his shoulder might end up with a bit of light bruising to do so.

It's felt like -Bilbo shuddered- _months_ since he's breathed anything other than filtered dusty mountain air. The air was a bitter chilly cold, his breath wisps of smoke with every exhale and Bilbo thought about his fathers old pipe.

The night sky was dark and cloudy. The mountainside covered inch to inch with layers of snow that traveled down to the nearby city of Dale.

Now, the glowing city at the base of the mountain, their neighbours of Men, we're reflecting off of the frozen lake and _breathing_ with life just under his feet. There were warm chimney fires filtering out home after home. Bilbo stepped further out into the terrace and saw the streets softly aglow, hushed music from so far away that was almost drowned out by the wind. Bilbo _longed_ for..- for something as warm as that felt. He wondered if Men practiced the arranging of marriage, or if they wed at all. He wondered what kinds of customs they kept, if they loved many or only one. If they celebrated love as the hobbits did, or if it were only simply business.

He wondered if they could hear him if he screamed.

It was a stupid idea that he shook his head to forget.

 _You're not a damsel in distress, you're just depressed you git._ Bilbo frowned, reaching the edge towards the thick stone guard rail and looked down.

"Thinking of jumping?" Bilbo jolted upright in surprise, spinning on his heel in a near panic to face the perpetrator.

"Lady Dis," the hobbit swallowed down his shock, absently straightening down his robe, "goodness, you gave me quite a start. I, uhm-" he looked glanced at the guard rail with a shake of his head, "ah, no, no not jumping. I needed some fresh air, nothing more."

If she believed him or not, he couldn't tell as her face changed little. He blamed the darkness mostly, as the terrace didn't even have the help of the moon to make out shapes clearly.

Dis stood in the doorway a moment before taking a step forward, "I apologize for frightening you," she said, "I was out for a walk when I noticed the door."

 _Of course I left it open_ , "I, uh," he swallowed, suddenly unsure, "I am not... trespassing at all, am I?"

Dis' hands moved to clasp her hands, "This is a public terrace. Besides, as Consort, trespassing is almost unheard of."

"Ah," he said awkwardly, "ah, good to know."

Dis was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating. She seemed to settle this by stepping further onto the terrace, moving to stand near the hobbit, but not facing. Her hands reached out and rested on the stone rail, looking out towards Dale. Or seeming to, anyways, Bilbo couldn't read her face.

"I," Dis began, deliberate in her slowness, "wish to.. apologize, for my earlier behaviour. It was unbecoming of a dwarrowdam in my position, but I hope you understand my hurt as a sister, rather than a princess."

"My son's told me what happened."

Bilbo stiffened, feeling cold.

"Nobody," Dis paused, never looking at the hobbit, "Nobody knows exactly what you went through. In all my years of diplomacy, I have never seen such a disregard and withhold of vital information to something so dear and prevalent. Never has a king and an ally refused to divulge something so devastating." her fingers seemed to tighten, her shoulders rich with tension. "We have sent ravens. We have sent some of our people on foot to the far Ered Luin for answers. I've sent a few of my personal advisors to speak with your kind as well. I don't understand."

Bilbo said nothing, as it seemed more as if she were asking in general rather than for him to answer.

"I do not understand." Dis said again, her voice softer, "how can we not know? How can you have hundreds of you homely creatures and not a single one of you speak of this? As you would your.. your tomatos and gardens? Of your homes, but not of how you lost them? How can you speak of pipe weed and not the Orcs that ravished your countryside? How has this news not reached our ears until last night? What in the nine hell's were any of you thinking?"

The hobbit clenched and unclenched his hands, looking between the princess and the city.

"We thought you all knew already," Bilbo said simply, sadly, "we were told you knew."

"You said nothing."

"I hate talking about it." Bilbo snapped, though the princess seemed unbothered. He knew it was a stupid excuse, continuing "we were-" he shivered, "afraid."

"Of us?" her voice became hard but Bilbo wasn't having it.

"Of it being _real_." Dis said nothing.

Frustrated, the hobbit glared up at her. "I was- _am_ so afraid of thinking about that night. Since the incident, the grief has been so terrible no one dares whisper of it. I quite think I've been the most vocal on the matter, and even then it makes me deeply ill. I've never..- we are not creatures of war." he crossed his arms, stuffing his chilled hands under his armpits for warmth, "I just.. I watched my dear aunt realize she was never going to see her wife again, just last night. We hobbits are coping. We don't speak of it because discussion makes the pain _real_. It makes it real and we're helpless to it. So I'm dreadfully sorry that our elders aren't blabbing about the death of their children, and you don't see children mourning anymore because they _can't_. Too much has changed and I dare say that they.. they haven't processed much of anything that has happened yet."

Bilbo sucked in a shaky breath, "Goodness gracious, just listen to me. Talking as if any of this changes anything. You know now. And that's the end of it."

Dis was deafeningly silent. Bilbo was half worried she was going to yell at him again when she turned her head gracefully, opening up her posture and finally letting her gaze fall to his nipped face.

"Master Baggins," her voice was so quiet, before she said his name again, louder this time, "Master Baggins."

"I was so caught up in my brothers misfortune of being forced to marry that I disregarded the idea that perhaps you found it unfortunate too. You chose the path of fulfilling an ages old contract to save your people, sacrificing yourself for other's is one of the highest degrees of honor there is. I judged you hastily and harshly, when all I should have done was approach you with kindness instead of suspicion. My cruelness during your celebration dinner was disgraceful, despite being out of love and worry for my brother, and for that, Master Baggins, I owe you my deepest apology."

Bilbo was, to say the least, likely to faint.

"Your Majesty," he responded softly, careful not to let the shock filter into his voice, "I accept your apology. I would like to also extend one of my own." Bilbo straightened himself, "my behaviour hasn't been the best either. I've been moping about, feeling sorry for myself, and acting a child."

"If, I am to be very honest with you princess," he turned his eyes towards Dale once more, watching the warm smoke fill the sky, "I came out here to escape, though I don't know how I'd do it or where I'd even go." His eyes fluttered tiredly towards Dis, "I'm not as honourable as you would have yourself believe. Quite frankly, I am overwhelmed."

Rubbing his eyes in frustration, Bilbo shook, "I'm just a Hobbit who wishes to go home. I became leader by lineage alone, and to be quite clear, it happened entirely by mistake. Just, the several who were in line before I should have ever been, were lost in the chao's and didn't escape. I didn't want to do this, I don't want to be here, I miss my armchair and my books, and my silly little garden, and these problems must seem so little to you but-" he stiffened his lower lip, "they were all I knew. It was who I was, and I don't know what to make of being Thain, let alone Consort to a mountain I hadn't even heard of half a year ago."

Something small and nearly unnoticeable in Dis seemed to relax, whether it was her posture or even the air around her, she became softer.

"I do not pretend to understand what it is you are dealing with, though I remember a time, a long time ago when I was very young, and Addâd - _My father_ \- was king under the mountain." The chilly night wind displaced her perfectly braided hair, her beads chattering like muffled chimes. "We had lost our grandfather to madness, Orcs were digging their way under the city and there was a mass evacuation while a war raged in our own walls." she breathed, "it was a very long time ago."

The story died on her tongue, turning towards the door, looking towards the hobbit with a slight tilt of her head, "It is cold, come, the mountain is warm and forgiving, as are you. I hope you find her a good enough replacement for what you have lost."

Bilbo gave her a smile, almost feeling genuine, "Bag End is not so easily replaceable, but this mountain will do."

"Bagen?" she questioned, leading him towards the door. Bilbo could feel the warmth already, greeting him kindly as the heavy door closed with a click behind them.

" _Bag End_ ," he corrected, "my smial. Home."

Dis made a soft sound, "Join me in my rooms, Master Hobbit," she requested, her face not quite welcoming but no longer stiff with resentment. Mostly curiosity, if he had any clue, "I'll make us something warm, and you tell me of home."

"That sounds like a lovely idea, princess."

"Please, call me Dis."

"Then I insist you call me Bilbo, at your service."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a bit short, but it seemed silly to jump ahead just yet. The next chapter will be a bit more wory and on the trials of Court when a king has a consort, so that'll be fun. Thank you for reading!


	7. Canterbury Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: With college and work I'm really trying to make room for constant updates, I really can't believe there's anyone who is still reading this. I had to go back and reread chapters in order to fix up already written chapters and adjust details and such. Thank you all so very much for you constant stream of support, and thank you all so much for reading! Enjoy!
> 
> Canterbury Bells: Gratitude.

Dis was much more than what she first appeared to be.

Bilbo even felt as far as guilty for feeling so strongly over his first impression of her.

The walk to her rooms had been relatively short lived. Bright and colourful as they were, the room was open and the heat from her ember lit fireplace reached even the coldest corners; drapes hung from room to room, rich in reds and blues and weaving around overhead. Carpets were plentiful, soft bearskins that tickled his frost nipped toes; blankets folded and draped over every couch and armchair, with which there were plenty. Dis had made her way to the armchair by the fireplace, patting the arm to wordlessly request the hobbit to sit, which he did so gratefully. Admiring the cushioning, looking up as he noted the artwork that hung on her walls, and how every spot in her bookcase was filled to the brim.

Dis walked to her open kitchen area; Bilbo recognized them at the ones also installed in his room, though he never touched them. Dis made quick work of setting the kettle, all while talking about her sons and her duties, bringing in cups for the two of them to enjoy; her kitchen was fully stocked, from what he could gauge, with hanging pots and pans strung to the walls for easier access. She must have noticed his interest, as she went on to explain she very much enjoyed cooking, and rarely troubled the kitchen if she could help it. Even did her own food shopping in the markets where she made nice with the tea vendors and farmers, loved picking out and trying new herbs for her meats, and had her boys over every other night with new recipes for them to try; even so far as speaking highly over certain Dalesmen who brewed some of the best coffee beans in all the three kingdoms.

She was also a widow; she told Bilbo much of her late husband Vili, of their adventures together and battles they fought side by side. She spoke very briefly of his death, and it sounded to Bilbo that it was a battle for health that he fought and lost, rather than a battle in arms, but refused to ask further questions.

Bilbo also found that Dis rarely strayed too long one on subject, and had an assortment of questions she wished to ask and thousands of topics she loved to discuss. One specific fact she brought up that caught Bilbo's interest, we her title as Shield-maiden to the king, as well as sister and princess. She explained that, as a young dwarrowdam, her father nearly forbade her from training with her brothers, as she was a princess and it was considered inappropriate of her position. Laughing, Dis then explained how every night she would sneak out of her rooms to go wake up Thorin, and would beg and whine for him to train her and to not tell father. So every night for years they'd sneak out to the training yard and she'd practice with her brother, sometimes brothers whenever Frerin would tag along, and they'd teach her to defend herself and fight back.

"Addâd had no idea," she smiled, and Bilbo wondered if Thorin ever smiled like that, so carefree and full of heart, "it only came out when a noble, who was causing a fuss - threatening my father and his place as king during a council, found an arrow between the eyes."

The night moved quickly and eventually Dis picked up her tea, forgotten by her side and long gone cold, that she did apologize for keeping the hobbit from his rest. Bilbo barely realized the time, nearing early sunrise, but assured her he wasn't bothered by the company.

"It's been a long while since I've enjoyed myself as much," Bilbo admitted, pushing himself to his feet and stretching, "I do wish for us to continue at some point, perhaps in my quarters next time, and I'll see if the stove in there works."

Dis rose to her feet as well, squinting "you haven't used it yet?"

Bilbo pressed his lips together and shook his head, "I've.. well, I don't really think I've allowed myself to be quite that comfortable yet."

"You are not a guest in these halls, Bilbo." Dis eyed him from where she was standing, "This is your home. There is no reason for you to feel prisoner here, though I understand we hadn't made this easy for you." she contemplated a moment before saying, "Next time I head down to the Marketplace, would you like to come with? I'm running low on fruits, and would enjoy the company."

Bilbo smiled at her, "I would be honoured to, your highness."

Their night settled fairly quickly after that. Saying their goodbyes and goodnights, making promises to do this again sometime at a later date, and Bilbo was once again off to his chamber. Being alone gave him the time to reflect all that had happened, and he couldn't have imagined a better way to escape, than to do so with a friend. They both tried to forget their own guilt and woes, and Bilbo was feeling the best he had in a very long time. Like a weight was lifted, and his head felt lighter of worries and doubts. At least, until, he reaching the hallway following down to his rooms, where he saw several guards pouring in and out, the doors wide open, and who he remembered as Dwalin barking orders in their sharp native tongue.

"Oh dear." Bilbo picked up the pace, running forward and was soon noticed by one of the dwarven guards, who perked up and shouted something to the others. More heads snapped his direction, faces either drawn up in frustration or relief but none were more prominent than that of the King, who Bilbo saw stepping out of his bedroom with an indescribable expression knitting his face.

"Master Hobbit," Thorin spoke, his voice dangerously low, and once again, indescribable. It wasn't quite anger, but it wasn't quite _not_ anger either. "Why were you not in your quarters?"

Bilbo caught up to all the commotion, but his previous good mood soured at the question. "I didn't realize I was to be imprisoned in my rooms?"

Thorin seemed to bite back on a comment, instead saying, "you are not a prisoner, but you are Consort, and as Consort it is dangerous for you to walk around unguarded. There are many who would wish to bring you harm, and although I would not force you be bound to your rooms, I only ask that you at least find a guard and have them accompany you."

Some tension seeped from Bilbo's shoulders, reminding him that it's early and he barely slept a wink last night. "This is rubbish."

Thorin seemed to be waiting for him to say more, if his posture and pause said anything about it, but when he realized Bilbo wasn't going to continue, "I do, however, appreciate you not doubting the safety of the mountain, I would not risk this again. After the ceremony, everyone in the mountain now knows your face, whereas before you were simply a hobbit. It is no longer safe for midnight runs and," Thorin inclind his head, "you still haven't told me where you went."

Bilbo frowned, "I barely see how that's any of your business, but if you _must_ know, I was with your sister." When Bilbo noticed the way Thorin's eyebrows raised, he rolled his eyes, "She found me on a terrace. I couldn't sleep, and I needed a walk and some fresh air. She offered me company and I accepted, we ended up exchanging stories for much longer than I suppose we anticipated. I took my leave mere moments ago," Bilbo placed his hands on his hips, "Now, are you satisfied?"

Thorin's lips were pressed together, though he seemed to accept after very little trepidation, and he nodded.

"Your story is sound, I never said I doubted you."

"Ah," Bilbo began awkwardly, feeling silly for being so huffy, "uh, well. Yes. Alright?"

Then, something occurred to him, "So, what exactly are you doing in my rooms? Did something happen?"

It was Thorin's turn to feel awkward, "Er- No. Nothing of the sort, Master Hobbit. I came to collect you for.. breakfast."

Bilbo stared blankly at him. "Breakfast."

Bilbo noticed Dwalin nudging the kings side with his elbow, and Thorin offhandedly shoved it away. "Yes. I.. I spoke to my advisers and they believed food to be important to hobbits. As the Second Day, and beginning of Valor to the ceremony, it's important to prove to you that I care about your craft and can provide for you. After being informed that halflings eat several meals a day, this seemed like an appropriate way to begin."

"I'll have you know I'm not half of anything, and for goodness sake please just call me Bilbo. We're married, and it's awfully strange to me to be so formal with someone you're bound to."

"Our circumstance happens to be _awfully strange_ , but as you wish," Thorin clasped his hands behind his back, shoulders straight but expression soft with humour, "Would you, Bilbo Baggins, do me the honor of having breakfast with me?"

Bilbo suddenly felt very aware of the dozen of eyes baring down on him, remembering he was still in not much more than a robe and his hair must look a state. "Of course, your highness-"

"Please, just Thorin."

The hobbit sighed, "Goodness. Yes, of course..- Thorin. But, ah, before I go with you, I would very much like to get dressed first. I look a fright, and it's rather unbecoming to be in such a state."

It seemed to finally register to the king that Bilbo was just wearing a robe, and very quickly adverted his eyes and said something in harsh khuzdul. Dwalin snapped the word louder, and the guards took their leave. Dwalin said something to the king, who nodded in return, before he too left. Leaving the two mismatched pair standing alone in the hobbits gaping doorway.

Quietly, Bilbo breathed "Thank you." turning towards his rooms, "I'll just be a moment."

Thorin only nodded, letting the doors be shut between them before Bilbo let out a relieved sigh. Goodness, he was tired. Turning his gaze away, he finally saw what was left of his room; the sheets had been tossed, his armchair pushed, his drawers all opens and clothes sprawled over the floors. Bilbo's room had very little, as he was told to fill it with personal items that he just didn't have. Never bothered to buy any either. He was almost thankful his bookshelves were completely empty, as well that his personal kitchen cupboards were barren, or else he'd be cleaning up this mess for hours. As upset he felt he should have been, he felt somber. He really didn't have _anything_ of personal value.

Even the lousy rug had been lifted slightly, Bilbo couldn't help but laugh at the ludicracy, _these dwarves must think me impossibly small!_ and moved over to readjust it. However, as he was grabbing the corner to pull it over, he noticed the edge of an indent into the ground. Curiously, he pushed back the carpet ever so much, and saw a very small latch that was embedded into the stone.

Something was very wrong with the sight of it. Biting the inside of his cheek, he continued to pull the carpet over the latch to wonder about at a different time. Whatever it was, it was meant to stay hidden.

It took very little time to get dressed, and all the while he thought of finally touching up his rooms. About adding more carpets and decorate and giving the kitchen the life it deserved to have. Seeing Dis' rooms reminded him that a mountain can be as cozy as a hill, it can be more than a dungeon where he doesn't have to punish himself for being safe in. For once, thoughts of Bag End warmed him instead of saddened, and he wondered if the other hobbits have had a chance to head down to the market and make use of their conjoined rooms together.

Thorin was standing outside his chamber door exactly where he had left him. Bilbo made sure to straighten his vest and comb his hair on both his feet and head before walking out. Thorin insisted, however, that Bilbo wear the circlet before they head out, which Bilbo tried not to complain too much about but understood the significance of such a thing a day after their ceremony.

After it had gotten caught on his curls and into the one braid in his hair, he felt two large hands carefully move his hands away.

"You're making it worse, may I help?"

"Well I don't suppose I can stop you." the hobbit winced, feeling Thorin's hands let go of his wrists to gently grab the circlet in his hair. "I feel I do more hurt than good with that bloody thing."

"Do you not like it?" the dwarrow asked, his fingers making work to untangle the freshly made knocks clinging to the metal. His hands were thorough and practiced, and soon the thin crown was freed.

"I think it's a bit much, but it's.. it is lovely." Bilbo caught a glimpse of it as Thorin placed it over his arm to fix the hobbits messy hair. Undoing the braid gingerly. His breathing became different, slower, yet the hobbit paid it very little mind as he focused on the hands running along his scalp.

"I'm grateful you think so," Thorin said quietly, "I made it myself."

Bilbo nearly choked.

Thorin lowered his head enough to the side so Bilbo could see his face. His eye was peeked in amusement, "did you find that humorous?"

Bilbo shifted in embarrassment, "Oh goodness, no! Just, you don't..- Oh dear how do I even put this? You're not..- well, you're- you're _king_."

"And?" Thorin's voice was light, upturning his head and leaving the hobbits view for a moment, his fingers taking their time as he grabbed the strands by the hobbits ear. Pinching and weaving, finishing as he clipped the bead back in place. Bilbo almost hadn't noticed the weight had left to begin with. Thorin stepped back, taking the circlet in hand and the hobbit watched Thorins face as he would have on their wedding day, as the light crown was placed once again on his honey roasted curls.

Bilbo nearly missed the small quirk at the edge of the kings lips. Thorin finally met his eyes, then moved to stand next to him. He didn't hold out his hand or the crook of his elbow for the hobbit to take, and for that, Bilbo was grateful.

"Dwarves are known for their crafts, the work that calls to their very core." Thorin began walking, Bilbo in step beside him, "Although I am from the line of Durin, I am not exempt from this call. When I was very young, I heard it. I hear it now."

"To be a smith?"

"Blacksmith, yes," Thorin nodded, "Although my metal of choice is silver, I'm apt with other metals as well."

"Ah," Bilbo knew very little about blacksmithing, but he knew enough to keep up, "so.. this is made of silver?"

The king shook his head, "Mithril."

Bilbo hummed. Thorin made a funny sound.

"You sound unimpressed."

He squeaked, "No! No, I'm very impressed, I'm - Well, I don't think I've ever heard of mithreel before."

The dwarf chuckled, "It's pronounced _Mithril_ , and it's the strongest metal known to dwarf. No sword can ever pierce it, not unless it too, is of mithril make itself." Bilbo made an appreciative sound, trying to show his interest by tracing a finger over the stems. "And the stones I've embedded, are made from the heart of the mountain - The Arkenstone."

"I think I've heard of that." Bilbo commented, looking up at the other. "At least mentions of it in passing. The Kings Stone?"

"It's a very powerful stone," Thorin replied, "it had a way of ensnaring admiration from kingdom to kingdom. It was my grandfathers," the two turned a corner. There was noise coming from a room to the far right, the lights here were lit and Bilbo thought he could hear some familiar voices, "It was used as a symbol of our throne, and whomever possessed it had the right to the mountain."

"That seems a little silly, what if it got stolen?" Bilbo spluttered, "Why, someone could have the stolen the deed to my smail, but it wouldn't be accepted that Bag End was anyone's but my own!"

"It was an old rule," Thorin agreed, "and after the stone itself had been buried after the death of my grandfather, it became more of a ceremonial stone. It's only significance is its memory, and to be used for times such as this." he glanced at the circlet atop the hobbits curls, "the smaller stones chipped from it hold no special power the full stone did. Just it's significance." Thorin reached his gaze, "there will be no doubt to anyone who sees you, of who you belong to."

Thorin's gaze was intense as it was warm. Bilbo didn't get much of a word in when they reached their destination, as he heard several sets of voices call his name.

He stepped into a large dining hall that was filled with hobbits. Breakfast was usually taken in their rooms, but this morning dwarven chefs were working hard; setting out plates from what smelled like honey nut cakes and orange marmalade. Mugs were steaming by every hand, and kettles were scattered among the tables. Bilbo was quickly grabbed by Drogo and Primula, Thorin following behind, the two speaking adamantly about the ' _Terribly kind dwarves that came by to fetch 'em for breakfast!_ and how Primula was entirely too under dressed and the whole flurry that took place to get everyone ready. Each clan emerging from their separate rooms must have been a sight that Bilbo was too sad he missed.

He could hear his uncle making loud claims of being related to royalty, and saw some children running between tables and giggling among themselves. There was laughter and dancing, and Lobelia greeted him with a timid and small smile of her own as he reached the table. Hamfast was already seated, as was Bell and his aunt Primrose. Primula pushed some clean empty plates his way, as Drogo went off to fetch some more untouched silverplates of toast. Sat down, his stomach growling and welcoming the fact he could see a good mixture of first _and_ second breakfast among the mix of food. It felt as if perhaps Thorins adviser asked a very hungry hobbit what breakfast was and certainly received an answer.

Drogo returned with a few cleaned cups for both Bilbo and the king, laughing about something his great aunt said to him as he passed. Bilbo very happily accepted each dish, completely forgetting the kings comment and making quick work of filling his plate up with sunny side up eggs, crispy bacon, and warmed up toast. He spread jam and butter on separate pieces, delighting in the skid of his butterknife crunching against the bread. The honey nut cakes were still steaming hot as he piled on a few, and as he took a sip of his tea, he nearly shivered in appreciation; tasting of apples, cinnamon, and fresh thick honey, he nearly felt silly gulping down the hot brew, but _goodness_ he was starving. His appetite had been cut short the day before, and he figured his eagerness could be understood.

He took no time in tucking into his meal, listening as Hamfast told a glorious story of how he can Bell first met. Drogo and Primula then followed along, then the talk came down to children, and although it seemed to cause the gentlehobbits at the table to somber up, everyone was still smiling.

"I've always wanted children," Primula smiled dreamily, "several children really, lots of wee lads, and little lasses, so they're never playing by themselves."

"Bell m'dear and m'self love havin' children, that's true," Hamfast smiled, "right, with our firstborn Hamson, then Halfred, Daisy, May, Marigold, and now little Samwise. Never 'ave to play by themselves, they don't. Mostly have to look after little Sam, but they don't seem to mind."

Thorin made a sound by Bilbo's side, "You have six children? That's incredible."

"Thank you y'majesty, but we're average. You see, Master Baggins here's mother was the ninth of twelve siblings, y'know."

"Aye, bless her soul," Bell interjected, "She was a character, you know." she finishing chewing, pointing her fork towards the king, "Daughter of a Took, loved a good adventure that one. Oh, she was the gossip of the Shire, I tell you, _and she wasn't even the one gossiping_. Better things to do! Always traveling with that old wizard and speaking new languages every new moon."

"Oh?" Thorin's face did something complicated.

"Well of course. I believe she shocked everyone when she settled down with Bungo, seeing as he was a Baggins, and a respectable homebody. Though I always thought he had to have some adventurous streak, as he loved Belledonna, and he would have settled for no one else."

Bilbo could feel Thorins eyes boring into him, but opted not to bring attention to it. "My father was a very simple hobbit who enjoyed simple pleasures, but he loved very deeply, and he was devastated by my mothers..- passing. He passed not so very long after."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Bilbo met the kings gaze and gave a very short smile.

"Nonsense, it was a very long time ago. At this rate, there's much more to mourn and celebrate, as time moves on, so shall we."

"Speaking of celebrating," Drogo began, and this time, leveling his eyes at the dwarf. "I do wish, as one of Bilbo's advisers, cousin, and good friend, to know what exactly is to happen these upcoming few days. It can't all be feasting, can it?"

"And why _can't_ it be?" Hamfast retorted, biting into his eggs, "Several days'o feasting ain't hurt nobody."

"Unfortunately, the Master is correct," Drogo looked slightly pleased in himself, perhaps because he got to level with a king or perhaps because he was correct, either way; "allow me to explain."

Thorin told the hobbits what these next few days would entail. Most of it was what Bilbo and him had already discussed; the Three Days of Valor, where the richer of the families (in this case, Royalty) would have to provide for and prove themselves capable of caring for their chosen spouse. It's met with lavish gifts, grand feasts, and something related to their chosens craft. Thorin continued to explain after his chosen and his chosens family have mutually agreed what the spouse has given was good enough, stating that it usally takes a three day period, but can sometimes be shorter or even longer depending on the family, that the couple then moves onto the fifth and sixth day, which is is pronounced _galabiagnân_ which roughly translates into _beginning_. The battle.

Hamfast made a choked sound, but Thorin was quick to say that nobody would actually be hurt. Not a soul at the table was comforted by this, but Primula interrupted to ask about the seventh and last day.

"Ah, _Nâla_ , or rivercourse, in common."

"Ah, that doesn't sound too bad."

Thorin shifted uncomfortably, "The day of Nâla, means the day of consumption."

Bilbo jerked in surprise, "wait, like a honeymoon?"

Thorin frowned at him, confused, "honeymoon?"

"Honeymoon is the day after the wedding, where the couple either chooses to start a family or to wait. Usually theyre stuck in a smail for a good week or so before they emerge with the news."

"It's similar," Thorin eventually said, but Bilbo noticed him clenching and unclenching his fists by his hip. "Though Nâla, is caused by the Heat Fever. Usually this begins slowly during courtship towards marriage, _abkân_ and it's built up over time. There is no law, ancient or otherwise, that says it's enforced upon the couple, though it is barely a marriage without it. Given the circumstance of our arrangement, which is almost entirely unheard of with dwarves, who are often open to marriage refusal, I believe Mahal would forgive us if or when we decide not to."

"Heat Fever?" Hamfast scrunched his nose, "that sounds dratty."

"And painful." Bell supplied.

"It can be," Thorin responded, "I myself have never gone through it, as I do not have a One. It's a baser instinct, though I've learned over the years it's not only about the end result. It's a very intimate time for the couple. Something ancient and wholly raw with their core, as if being carved again from stone by Mahal himself. Though this is not for every dwarrow, for many reserve themselves to their crafts and their crafts alone."

Bilbo was blushing furiously, his vest feeling far too tight as he felt his cousins eyes all fall to him.

"I'm sure that's all rather lovely, but goodness I barely know you," he giggled a little deliriously, "I think I'm quite right with feasts and chats for the time being."

Thorin looked ready to respond when Hamfast interjected-

"Yer' highness, majesty sir, now if your maker will allow some leniency, perhaps he won't be too mad at'y if you were t' _not_ try an' kill Master Baggins."

"Oh yes!" Primula joined in, "What about instead of the fifth and sixth day bein' about fighting, how about teaching your spouse about your culture instead? Then he can teach you a bit about ours?"

"Seems a bit cross for you dwarves to be goin' around attacking your spouses and not knowin' a thing about them!" Lobelia chimed in, to Bilbo's surprise.

"I rather have to agree with them," Bilbo finally said, "Although I do understand that use of weapons proves you can trust your spouse to be both your partner-in-arms, and all that, but I feel as if some tweaks could be made? Maybe a little fighting, if you truly feel it's necessary, but if so, then give me a day to expose you to what we hobbits do to celebrate a wedding?"

Thorin seemed briefly taken aback, as if he honestly hadn't considered making any adjustments to suit a different cultures needs. Bilbo caught him looking up towards his circlet, before he managed to reach the hobbits eyes again. He looked striking.

"I suppose a few adjustments are in order," his voice was low and kind. Bilbo couldn't help but feel engulfed by it, hearing the excited shouts of his family and friends as they called a few more of the family to the table to discuss business and party planning. Perhaps, he mused, everything wouldn't be as terrible as he had originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is out super quick after the last update, and they wont always be coming out this fast, but I felt I owed it to you guys after having to wait an actual _year_ for chapter 6th. Thank you all so much, once again, for that kind of patience. I hope you enjoyed!!


	8. Sunflower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Another lull in the story. I just had my wisdom teeth removed recently, and school/work is hitting full swing once again. I'm not going to let it affect a lack of updates this time around, though I'm certainly full of filler chapters at the moment, it's hard to force these out when I really want to hit plot (but the plot isn't much without the fillers). Thank you so much for all the kind words and the patience. Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: Also over _10,000 hits_ oh my god w h a t, thank you guys so much for checking out this story as much as you have been!! I cannot stress how thankful I am that anyone's still interested in this story, but I plan to finish.
> 
> Sunflower: False riches.

The market was bustling with life.

Bilbo couldn't get enough of the smell of it; of roasted meats and sweets that premeditated the air, to the fresh linen whose scent that danced in the height of the breeze. Voices filled every corner, gruff hushed haggling over stalls and the flutter of kites dancing over the mountainside, catching the cold mountain brush that kept them afloat. Bilbo can't remember the last time he'd seen kites since the Shire, and couldn't help but smile faintly when he caught sight of some dwaflings showing a few well-to-do fauntlings the proper way to keep their grip on the handles.

It helped sate some of the worst of his nerves.

After the breakfast two days past, Bilbo hadn't seen hide nor tail of the dwarven king. Not in the sense that the dwarrow had forgotten the hobbit, no, certainly not. Bilbo still feels awkward answering his door every several hours to a new piece of kitchenware, that he's half convinced that Thorin had locked himself up in the smithing quarters and refused to leave until he had finished an entire set of bakestones or two. Although lovely, well-made pieces, Bilbo's unused to such generosity, though he supposed it gave him a good enough reason to take up Dis on her offer for a market run and stock up. He's missed having a full pantry, and being able to raid his larder in the early hours of the morning when sleep can't quite come; considering this past half-year, he feels it's more necessary now perhaps more than ever.

Dis had been ever gracious with tips of which stall sold the freshest of what, or who made the best herbs or grew the ripest fruits.

Ever since their late night talking, she's been ever the more handsy, careless with touch. Nothing nefarious, but gentle. A soft hand on his elbow to gently guide, a friendly hand on his shoulder, tugging him by the hand to hurry him along in cases of excitement. Thoughtlessness and kindness in the way she handled him to show him her favourite stands and all the love and humour in her face when she spoke to the merchants and vendors, chatting them up like old friends as she asked just the right amount of questions to get the better quality merchandise that was readily set before them.

Catching sight of Bilbo's circlet, many vendors gave a curt polite bow of the head, which was quite frankly beginning to really drain his mood but not enough to dampen his day, assuring them there's no need for formalities, but his assurances was nothing compared to the pride and stubbornness of dwarves who almost outright ignored his surely _outragious_ suggestion of informality. Surely someone would just call him Master Baggins, or even just plain old Bilbo rather than his royal highness? It started to become a seemingly hopeless venture that he eventually stopped corrected after the tenth vender or so.

Dis had come somewhat prepared for this venture, having the two of them followed by a few extra guards to have carry some things back and forth to the mountain, which started to become a prevalent need when Bilbo made the mistake of stopping too long at a fruits vender and falling in love with the feel and colouring of their tomatoes. By the end of their trip, Bilbo felt starved and ready to return to his rooms and make use of the long-neglected stovetops, until, at least, the pair made their way past a stall that contained teas, but most notably towards the back, small packets of seeds. He almost didn't spot them, but the flash of yellow had caught his eye, turning his attention to a long stemmed and large sunflower head. Behind the stall was a stout dwarrow, white hair pulled into a tight braid that interlaced intricately into his beard and behind into a very difficult looking bun. Bilbo couldn't help but wonder how long it might take to do something so detailed; the dwarrow in question must have felt eyes on him as he turned to look at the hobbit for a moment as one would a regular new customer, though his eyes grew brighter as he noted the circlet over the hobbets curls and greeted the creature with a warm, if not stuffy, smile.

Dis seemed confused as to why they stopped, but took note of the dwarrow at the stall and let out a pleased sound.

"Master Dori," she greeted warmly, "it's been a bit since I've had the chance to visit, how's Ori?"

The dwarrow, Dori, returned the enthusiasm in kind, "Ori was granted a mentorship recently, actually, with all the thanks to your brother for putting in a kind word to the Master Scribe."

"Frerin had very little to do with it, I assure you," Dis smiled, "Ori is a very talented dwarrow and I'm certain he would have been noticed all on his own."

"That's very kind of you to say, my Lady," he gave a gracious little bow, raising his head to get a good look over at the hobbit standing off to her side, "and you must be Our Consort, it's truly an honour to meet you, your majesty."

"The honour is mine," the hobbit replied.

"Now, what brings such nobles to my corner of the market?" he asked neatly, "I'm afraid some of my more popular spices are well out of season for the moment."

"I noticed your flowers," Bilbo half-burted before Dis could say something, "I, uhm, I haven't seen much on the side of flora on this side of the misty mountains, and especially in the dead of winter."

Something in Dori's eyes flipped from curiosity to something exciting, "Goodness! I always half forget about my blossoms, rarely anyone asks about the flowers, if at all. Dale usually cares for their own, but I figured a few of us in the mountain could live with a little bit more life than our stone." Dori snorted, "blasphemous, I know, but I can't help but admire nature. In a sense the mountain is apart of the same life that creates the trees and the grass that surrounds us in the spring, it's just... it's hardier. Rougher, but still, needs those of us to care for her, as do my plants."

Bilbo looked back to the sunflower, his smile feeling heavy all of a sudden. It's been such a long time since he's seen a sunflower. Bilbo's late aunt Donnamira Boffin, a Took by heart, use to raise the tallest sunflowers in all of Hobbiton. If he stood on top of his hill just right and looked towards the West, he could see their yellow glow raised skyward, drinking up the sun. Bilbo shook the thoughts, he wasn't going to start a scene in public.

"Sunflowers have always been a dear favourite of mine," it came out of his mouth before he could catch it, and he didn't even know if that was necessarily true. There were more stunning flowers he use to admire more in his mothers garden. He can think of all the patches he use to help tend to and would trample when he was young, but all that didn't matter. In that moment, his favourite flower was the sunflower, because his aunt use to make the tallest ones.

"They are lovely, aren't they?" Dori couldn't have possibly noticed the turmoil in the hobbits heart, and by all means, he shouldn't have. Bilbo was feeling very warm all of a sudden, very aware of the noise around him, aware of the eyes. It felt like everyone knew something he didn't want them to, felt as if a million thoughts of him turned sour and blamed him, hated him, didn't trust him; his warmth turned him cold, and the onsets of a mild panic clenched at his heart. Lowering his eyes to his feet, he tried to steady his breathing.

Dis placed her hand on his back, snapping Bilbo out of his state. He caught her look, her eyes questioning with worry but he shook it off.

"S'just the chill," he lied, "I'm not used to being out in it for this long. I'm alright."

"We should head back," Dis said quietly, not entirely convinced but not pressing, "your kind does not wear shoes."

"Oh, I'll be fine," Bilbo forced a small smile, turning to look back to the vendor, "besides, I would like to purchase some seeds and a few bags of tea, if that's alright?"

"Of course!" Dori was very quick to grab his quill, making a few notes of the seeds Bilbo proceeded to ask for and they had a short discussion of what seasons he has certain ones more readily available compared to others, where to find good soil and so forth. Bilbo left feeling a little lighter carrying a single small bag of sunflowers in hand. He bought enough assorted seeds to plant at least a small personal garden, with no thought to where he'd place it or how he'd even make sure they'd have sun, but he supposed that he'd eventually cross that bridge when he came to it.

By the time the pair made it back to the royal chambers, it was nearing luncheon. Dis invited him for food, but after the long while spent walking, he had to respectfully decline.

"Dinner then," she waved off, "my treat."

"I'm almost certain it's my turn to cook for you, after our talk over tea."

"Some other time," she insisted, "I'll have my boys stopping by, and perhaps if schedules allow, my brothers may be able to join us."

"Oh?" Bilbo chuckled, "sounds like a lovely afternoon actually, I'd be delighted to come."

"Then I'll be certain to set out an extra plate, I'll see you then. Walk with care." giving Bilbo's arm one last squeeze, she branched away with a few guards with their hands full following a few feet behind. Bilbo was left with his pair, who he wordlessly had follow him back to his quarters.

Pushing his doors open was a welcome relief, the fireplace at the far end had been started and tended to in his absence, his bed made and clothes freshly folded over his bare and unused dining room table. Grabbing the laundry, he sniffed.

"I won't make you put all this mess away," he walked over to his closet, placing his clothes in the proper drawers, "you've done more than enough, and I'm very appreciative of it. This would have taken me well over two trips to do all on my own," he pushed everything close, turning back to the guards with a friendly wave, gesturing for them to sit the items wherever they could, "I'm sure you have much more important duties than to fuss over a silly hobbits groceries."

One of the guards gave the hobbit an astounded look, speaking momentarily in gruff dwarvish khuzdul before catching himself, "There is no greater honour than serving our kingdoms Consort, your highness," the dwarrow placed the bags of food on top of the table with a slight roughness, seemingly a thoughtless action coming from someone use to battle than having to do something so simple. "I have heard hal- _hobbits_ are humble creatures, but there is no need to lessen yourself when you have captured the heart of our King. That is no small feat."

Bilbo felt immediately like a fraud. He never really stopped to consider whether the news of the marriage being arranged found the ears of others outside the royal family, but he supposed it was something to ask the King once he had the opportunity. It made him wonder what kind of silly stories people came up with; how they met, how they fell in love, what happened and when. He wondered what they must think of a frumpy fussy little creature that could have possibly done to capture such a mighty heart of that of Oakenshield.

"Old habit," he said instead of what he wanted to say, "regardless, I am thankful."

As of that moment, all he could think about is dusting out these vast stone cabinets and finding the right places to put everything away. He wanted to see if the oven worked, if the icebox he'd been eyeing actually had the cold vents from the top of the mountain blow into it year round to keep food cold; he wanted to bury his hands into cake batter almost as much as he wished he could bury them in soil, but figured it was as good as a momentary replacement as any. He wanted his rooms to smell of food instead of musty stale and dusty air, instead of the crackling of an old fireplace that needs the soot replaced. He wanted to eat things he use to make when he was having difficult nights back in Bag End, after his mother had passed and his father was inconsolable and fading, when he would lock himself away in his study for days on end until he eventually reached his own. When Bilbo had to sit alone for several meals a day and fall asleep in an empty smail for the first time in his life. 

He use to make Seed Cakes with an apple coating, warm from the oven with some eggs in a basket and freshly brewed tea. He was lucky to say he had an assortment of things he could make as a sort of comfort food. Maybe curl up by the fire. He thought remorsefully of not having a book to read, or a spare throw blanket to bundle up with, but stopped his thoughts from falling further into small decimals of despair. He could feel his throat tighten. Bilbo made an offhanded gesture.

"Now run along, and get to your everyday duties. If you find yourself my way within the next few hours, feel free to stop in. I'll likely have a few cakes saved for you two after all the trouble you've gone through for me today." The older of the dwarrows laughed heartily in pleasure, agreeing in kind before they eventually parted way. The doors closing securely behind them with a reverberating thud.

Bilbo wasn't sure what it was that was so freeing about being alone. How a body knows how to last just long enough for the footsteps to fall into faded echo's long since dissipated into air, before it crushed under its own weight.

Gasping for air, he fell to his knees.

Today had been worse for fits than they had been in a while. He could feel his whole body heave as hours of stifled sobs finally forced out of his throat like a precise kick to a chamber door. His hands grabbed uselessly at his middle. The bead touched his face and he was moments away from just ripping out his hair in frustration, in anger and hatred, in a deflective impulsive move, he yanked at the circlet again, but matters only grew worse at it pulled at his hair that it was once again tangled up in and the day was only growing more painful to bare. He wanted to stop crying, he wanted to stop these horrible fits of sickness and hysteria, but his heart is in a cold clenched grip and it wasn't letting go or easing up and he couldn't fight hard enough to breathe.

Every part of him was shaking, he had no idea what time it was or how long he had been on the floor, for what could have been minutes or hours, he couldn't get himself to calm down. He thought of sunflowers, but all he could see was fire where the sun came too close. He tried picturing his aunts face and all he can see was the terrible bloodied blue dress, the snow had never looked so pale, the fire never felt so cold. He could hear the howling and guttural clicks and snaps of jaws too horrible to imagine, of many winters ago when the river froze over and the wolves crossed..- _he can still see his mother in the snow_ -

Bilbo felt hands on him, wide palms on his face and quiet rough whispers in words he can't comprehend nor understand. Everything hurt and he couldn't see straight, his face was soaked, red faced, but the voice was so soothing, calm in a way Bilbo wished he was. It was _real_ and solid and close enough for Bilbo to grasp and steady himself. His body was in a cold sweat, shivering, unable to control the tremours in his hands as he gasped for air. The hand on his cheek rubbed a thumb slowly but steadily under the hobbits eye, carefully over the flush that followed the shape of his cheekbones. The other hand moved carefully to the trembling hobbits head, carefully smoothing out the disaster but unable to untangle and free the thin crown without using both.

Bilbo felt terrible in every way he could. Pathetic that he was still struggling like this, that he had no control over himself, hated how easily he was set off.

His breathing slowed in time with this persons; at some point, one of those gentle hands grabbed one of Bilbos own and placed it onto the other's chest. Sturdy, steady, breathe, _in, out, in, out-_

Bilbo felt only technically coherent when he finally had the strength to open his eyes. Watery and strained and likely entirely bloodshot, he could make out those sharp stunning features, the delicate nose, soft long dark greying hair, those piercing.. piercing concerned blue eyes. Bilbo blinked a few times, still sucking down air, he can feel the warmth in the dwarrows palms, see's his hand pressed against his chest and how deliberately slow the king is breathing. How slow Thorin is breathing, to.. to help him breathe. To help him match his breath.

He's close to adding 'humiliated' onto his long list of grievances of how wrong his life currently is, but he's too focused on trying to calm down to care.

Thorin is speaking so softly, only now is he going between westron and his native tongue, counting upward in pairs of two. Bilbo clung to all of it, letting the tension seep from his shoulders with every word, every carefully placed touch. Thorin never moved much, didn't crowd, but wasn't too far away, he was comforting. Bilbo wanted to ask why, but he could barely think properly long enough to say _thank you_ let alone question something so selfless.

They were on the floor for a very long time.

Thorin never asked what happened, Bilbo had a feeling he knew. When the episode passed, and Bilbo was somewhat to his senses, they stayed seated. Thorin's hands dropped but never let go, not demanding, not forcing, but a constant. Bilbo couldn't help but think it strange, seeing Thorin, the Kingdoms Monarch, a literal war hero he's learned from off-handed mentionings, sitting very unregally on a dirty floor, clothing rumpled, calming a creature he barely knew only days ago. This must be so much for him as it is for the hobbit, and yet he is..- he is so _calm_.

Bilbo felt a twinge of envy, but dampened it down as a silly feeling.

"I must come off as quite the handful," Bilbo tried to joke, but it came out shaky and wet. He sniffed, "I wouldn't look at you when we first met, I caused a scene at our first dinner, yelled at you in your personal quarters, couldn't be found when you first sought me out, and here I am-" Bilbo rubbed at his nose in frustration, "a right mess on my dirty kitchen floor, making you come here and comfort me. I'm a terrible husband."

"You've been through much," Thorin spoke very gently, unlike his usual gruff tone of voice. "All of our first's have come from dire misunderstandings and... I had not been giving proper effort on my end. I do not admit faults readily, but I recognize there was much I could have done. Well, and this?" Thorin gave an acknowledged nod to what had just transpired, "I've seen it many times after _Azanulbizar_. Some things need healers, they need time. While others, they need more than what my healers are capable of." Thorin shifted a moment, "I cannot guarantee that you can do this on your own, but I can reach out for you, if you need."

"What are you suggesting?" Bilbo questioned uncertainly.

"I know of a mind healer," Thorin said carefully, "someone who may be able to give you peace of mind, if you wish it."

Bilbo felt too delirious to argue with him, "I think I'd be very grateful for such a person."

The edges of the dwarven king's lips twitched upwards ever so slightly, it would have been very easy to miss had the hobbit not have been paying as much attention as he was. Thorin's eyes darted over to the mess of bags littering the hobbits table tops, raising a slight brow.

"Is our kitchen staff not to your liking?"

"Oh goodness, no!" Bilbo realized they were still holding hands, and took the moment to take his back with a defensive gesture, "I just, I miss being able to make my own food. I don't think you'd believe me, but my larder quite took up half the size of my Smail."

"Smail? Your hill homes?"

Bilbo could feel himself smiling before he could help it, "That's one way you could put it. Hobbit holes, mostly, but the technical term is Smail. They were once quite lovely, large too. Usually built with the intent of filling them with many fauntlings, the average of eight, but sometimes more or less. I was an only child, you know." Shaking his head, he went on, "I spent a lot of my days either reading, writing, smoking in my garden if I wasn't helping my gardener -Hamfast, my dear friend which you've met- or I was cooking. Baking, grilling, et cetera."

"Sounds like a very.. comfortable life."

"You were about to say _lazy_ , weren't you?"

"I was not."

"Well, if you were, you wouldn't be wrong." Bilbo stretched out his legs, testing out their sturdiness, wanting to stand. Thorin was quick to his feet, reaching a hand out to steady the hobbit who was able to keep himself planted, "thank you, but yes we hobbits lived very comfortable lives. We worked and had our jobs, but mostly we ate, celebrated, farmed or gardened, often times both. It was comfortable. It was quiet. Nobody ever bothered us."

Thorin said nothing, letting Bilbo gather his thoughts. The hobbit huffed.

"I really wanted to make some Seed Cakes before I head over to Dis's rooms later tonight. I'm not so sure I'll have the time now."

"I'm sure she'd understand if you were late," Thorin interjected, "is there anything I can do to help?"

"Oh dear, you've already done so much. I can't ask for anything more, besides, you're a _king_ -"

"And you are my _Consort_." Thorin folded his hands behind his back, and Bilbo can't tell what's the dwarrow and what's the king. "It is my duty to care for you, and if you need help, I am here to provide it."

 _He's only here because he has to be_ , Bilbo frowned, of course he is. It's his duty, it's his... it's his position he's been placed. No more and no less.

Bilbo shook his head, "I'll be fine, thank you. Will you be at the dinner tonight?"

"Unfortunately, no. I have some important missives to tend to that cannot be ignored for long," Thorin paused, as if remembering something, "I came here to give you something."

"Goodness you are relentless," Bilbo rubbed at his eyes, "I'm certain I have every pot and pan imaginable already, including every kind of utensil I could ever want."

"All but one," Thorin pulled from the floor where he must have dropped it in his hurry, the packaging around it was now somewhat torn when he handed it over but Bilbo didn't mind. The hobbit gave him a curious look, squinting at the king in curiosity, taking very little time in removing the rest of wrappings.

In his hands was an intricately crafted quill, the point was symmetrical and sharp, with the feather's made of some form of silver. It was beautiful.

"How on Yavanna's green earth did you find the time to make all these things."

"I didn't, not entirely." Thorin looked pointedly over to the counters where all the kitchen sets were sat, "I had called for a commission to the Head Smith to call on her most gifted to work on those for you.. as well as to allow me room to work on what you're holding in your hands."

"You had to ask permission to visit the smithing quarters?"

"It shows respect for her guild."

Bilbo snorted, "you dwarrows and your pride."

Thorin paused, "do you find it to your liking?"

Bilbo twisted the metal in his hands, "It's lovely," he admitted, "Was it Hamfast or Drogo who gave you the idea?"

"It was Primula, actually," The king tilted his head smoothly, "she spoke very highly of your children books, and poetry. Claimed you are a very gifted writer."

"She exaggerates, but I do love a good story."

"Well, perhaps this will allow you to create more." There was a slight hesitation, Bilbo noting the tense jerk in the kings arm before eventually settling on keeping it folded behind his back. _He probably wants to fix my hair_ Bilbo thought, but left it be.

After a settled moment, Thorin turned to leave, "I will leave you to your work. If you need anything there are guards posted outside your door. Should you need me for any reason, Balin will be in the main hall for most of the evening, and he will be glad to escort you to me if needed."

"I doubt that will be necessary, but I appreciate it." Bilbo continued, missing a beat before saying, "and, Thorin? Thank you."

Looking softly pleased, Thorin gave a mindful bow of the head as he left the room. Bilbo watched him leave with a sudden bought of mixed feelings, ignoring the click of the door as it shut. He turned back to his messy tables. Rubbing the palms of his hands over his face, he steadied himself, it was time to get to work.

 

  
[Consort Bilbo Baggins, by Aydsa_Nyan](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12117948?view_adult=true/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do feel really bad for doing this to Bilbo, but in all actuality, he's dealing with a ton of trauma rn and we have to get him through this first before we can have him recover. Which he will, in a sense, I guarantee it, but this poor guy is doing his best. /Note, yes he had a panic attack. I've never had one, and from what I found this was how they were sort of explained as being. I hope I wrote it appropriately, but I'm always open to pointers, especially as this chapter was a bit abrupt. Thank you all for reading!!
> 
> Also! Holy shit [Aydsa_Nyan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdCat_Aydsa/pseuds/Aydsa_nyan/) made me art of [my consort Bilbo Baggins](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12117948?view_adult=true/) and I'm so insanely thankful to them for taking the time and doing that for me. So, once again: _Thank You!_ Please go to their page and send them lots of love because I can't send enough.  
>  Thank you all for reading!


	9. Daffodil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ready to get this section over with to get to the point of the fic; I did this to myself because I don't know how to make just a handful of chapters instead of attempting a full-length novel so lessgo // Also!! Time skip, because guess what isn't entirely important? Dragging out the days of the ceremony. It was originally going to be the entire fic but I found I actually hated the idea once I tried writing it out, but I think I have a better plot for you all, and that also means a lot more chapters. Bare with me here, we're getting somewhere I promise.
> 
> A/N (EDIT): _Slight life update nobody asked for, but in the middle of writing this chapter, I've had two relatives pass away, and as I had been working midway through this chapter, my sister whom I live with had to be rushed to the hospital for an emergency C-Section and it's taken me a few weeks to return - both her and the baby are okay! It's just been crazy and I haven't have much time outside of school, homework, babysitting, and actual work to get back to this, but here we are!! Thank you so so much for waiting and being patient with me! I hope you enjoy!_
> 
> Daffodil: Regard

It's been several months since the first day Bilbo stepped into the grand halls of Erebor. Since he first drank in the rumbling life that echoed through every narrow cave and boomed down every corridor. Months since he's been falling asleep to the sounds of harsh wind bashing against the mountain side, seen every crack in the wall and every carving, so familiar with every word engraved in his ceiling he could trace it in his sleep. Months since he first walked down the aisle, rose atop those ancient steps and said his very quiet vows.

He can't say much as really changed.

Thorin had been receptive to his teachings of hobbitish culture, had been patient as Bilbo taught him the meanings of the flowers and the value of a plant. He explained as much as he could, from the several meals that they feasted, to the hairs of his feet. A whole day of quiet talking with Hamfast tucked up next to his hip, adding pointers and commenting and listing off some of the names of the Shires best. Bilbo was careful to do the same, though his memory was better than most, he still struggled to recall the types of stone and their specific value, but the King spoke deliberately and smooth and the hobbit was entranced in ways he can never remember being with anything else. He wrote it off as cultural fascination, as he had always loved learning something new and dwarvish culture was so secretive. To be told all these deeply ingrained things of something so scarcely spoken about felt honouring in ways he couldn't express in words.

They never had a day of violence, much to Bilbo's relief and fortune. The battle was replaced entirely with basic forms of training, and it became a private event between Thorin, his siblings, and the royal advisers. Drogo and Hamfast mimicking each new stance Thorin showed his consort, to the minute way of standing, thrusting, and deflecting. Taught him slight in defenses, though Bilbo couldn't explain the pinprick hairs that stood up on the back of his neck when the king would stand behind him and help him adjust the little things in his arms and legs. By the end of it, Bilbo had a couple techniques nearly down pat, but not placed in any real action. It was only when Kili and Fili had finished their duties and came to join them, that Kili was adamant about "- _Bilbo showing Uncle those hobbity dances!_ " as a fair trade, which went without much saying, was a great sense of excitement among Drogo and Hamfast, whom of which shouted they were going to grab their instruments and their wives " _to use as examples!_ " and were gone barely a few minutes.

The night had ended in a flourish as the hobbits took their turn, pairing up as much as they could. Hamfast paired up with Kili, Drogo nabbed Fili, Bell took Frerins flattered hand, while Primula offered her's successfully to Dis'. Balin and Dwalin took their seats; Dwalin refusing to participate while Balin feigned his age. Bilbo having looked towards the King who seemed uncertain as two of Bilbo's cousins from his father side took the fiddle and the other the flute, and soon began their swing. To the dwarves confusion, excluding Fili and Kili, they were thrown into a mad swing of dances, spins, and jumps. Bilbo took Thorin's hand with a smile and tugged him along until he finally seemed to grasp his footing.

Thorin was...- Bilbo wasn't sure if he had a word for such a person.

He was..- he was difficult, to start. Unyeilding, Bilbo found in the following months in the mountain. He was strict, and harsh, and often short tempered, hating the neighboring Elves with a passion so intense he could barely believe it was coming from something alive. Thorin was.. stubborn. He was as unmoving as the mountain and attempting to change his ways was a proven fruitless venture. He felt strongly and with such a deep certainty he was difficult to argue with, though Bilbo had more than proven to be as much up to the challenge when he's been particularly unreasonable.

Thorin was bullheaded, arrogant, frustrating, and he acted so self important sometimes that Bilbo found himself close to tearing his own hair out. But despite all his grievances, Thorin was..- giving; he could be kind, and understanding, could convince the trees to uproot and blossom in straight lines, could warm a blanket of snow to water the plants come spring. Thorin was patient. After more fits came and went after the first, he had been there for nearly every one. Calming and grounding and quiet in all the ways that the hobbit needed, or close enough that he could rarely spot the difference. Thorin often spoke of the "Mind Healer", but had to then explain that they were a flighty traveler and there was no telling when he would arrive. It was barely a comfort, and Bilbo still had his worries of what a Mind Healer would entail, but Thorin seemed certain it was necessary and seemed none the less unbothered; so Bilbo kept his concerns to himself.

The weeks that melted into months turned his chamber into a home. Thorin would bring books for Bilbo's empty shelves, presented blankets to help fight away the cold, and had to carry Bilbo many times to his bed when his feet no longer had the energy to move. Carpets covered the cold stone floors, and the kitchen always smelled like pastries, especially when the nights grew colder as the winter fought away the spring. Bilbo had more clothes, significantly more dwarvish in nature but clothes regardless, than he had of much anything else. The snow drop crown he received on his wedding day now hung above his grand bed, all dried out and pressed to preserve it longer; his blankets were thick and soft, and his rooms contained many more chairs and comfortable spots for sitting where he can smoke his pipe in peace, leaving plenty of room for many a guest. It certainly wasn't the Shire, but it was close enough now that he didn't care enough to pretend he didn't feel almost at home, though the West still called his name.

Now, while he had grown more settled in, the months made a difference to not only Bilbo, but to the rest of the Hobbits as well. 

Thorin had ordered for more rooms and sections to the mountain to be built, allowing the hobbits to expand and spread. Some even traveled a little further out of the mountain, some moving to the land between the kingdom and Dale, while a few others migrated into the City of Men. Thorin gave due care to their needs and granted them civil rights as official citizens of Erebor, with rights to work, buy property, and start businesses all their own. The Hobbits slowly but surely began mixing in the kingdom, creating homes for themselves in the most unlikely of places.

Thorin was allowing them to grow in a place that's taken such a long time for them to root, where fauntlings are being born under the mountain, the Guilds accepting internships from the halflings, especially in areas such as healing, agriculture, and literature. For their artisans and their crafters, farmers and weavers, smiths and carvers. The head scribe had been thrilled to accept more hands in preserving their documents, though made a particular split between what scripture was allowed and what wasn't in the hands of outsiders. Farming earned a boost, and Hamfast had spoken nonstop about all his plans to help the dwarrows down in Dale with their preservation of vegetables; and even the Head of Healing, a near deaf man named Oin, seemed welcoming enough to accept any and all information about Hobbit anatomy and health from the Shires own healers.

Erebor grew to be a new home. The markets and guildes had a good mix, there were more flowers being sold, and courtships even being announced between hobbit and dwarf where before there had been none. It was surreal, Bilbo thought to himself, seeing love sprout someplace to far away from the Shire. Watching even the most prim of his kin grow warm and welcome to the roughness of dwarves, commencing in song and drink after long days working side by side. 

Yet there was, of course, always going to be backlash.

Not all dwarrows welcomed the hobbits with open arms. Many were still skeptical, some even violent against the change. Thus far there hadn't been any detrimental actions taken against the hobbits as far as Bilbo was aware, due to there still being a seal of refuge on them, and any act in dwarven culture against a refugee was treated as a very dire offense indeed; but that didn't stop the words, the threats, the near clashes of violence.

Purists, was the technical term for them, the loose one where they hadn't quite banded together as a gang to wipe out the hobbits from Erebor in their entirety, but they were there, an ever-growing problem, never-the-less. They didn't call themselves anything, but they could be seen with cold stares and stiff shoulders. Flinging racist vulgarities where there were no guards in earshot. Bilbo had only been subjected to such a thing, exactly once.

Consort to the King or not, he wasn't exempt. It happened during a council with the Elves. Councils were another issue altogether; the meetings with Guild Masters and the stuffy nobles and self-important delegates. Gracious, it reminded Bilbo of those forced uncomfortable visits with his nosey relatives; tea with stiff conversation and all. It was beside the point. As consort, it was his duty to make nice with the wives and partners of the nobles, but otherwise, he stayed silent. Balin was the one who advised him as such, and it had scarcely proved him wrong, as the partners, though equally self-important, were typically kind and tolerable at worst.

It didn't seem to matter much as Thranduil, an Elven King Bilbo had never met before, had very graciously taken a liking to him. Delightfully surprised when Bilbo could understand his Sindarin and almost attempted to ignore the dwarven king entirely until one of Thorins delegates became fed up.

Bilbo had no idea what the dwarrow was saying, but his eyes were cold and his face contorted into something terrible. The language came out so harsh and vile, it snapped whatever pleasantness Bilbo was experiencing speaking to the Elven King; Thranduil seemed unfazed by the abruptness, but the tenseness in his shoulders was deeply unmistakable for anything else. Dwalin said something equally harsh sounding in response, and soon there were more dwarrows shooting up out of their seats, hand tight against the helm of their weapons.

" _Thia le perian groga_ " Bilbo felt his ears begin to burn, ' _It appears as if you've been threatened_ '

It wouldn't be the last time, but never would it be so bold and direct; after the delegate had his beard sheared from his body and clan banished from the mountain, the worst that Bilbo ever received thereafter were nothing more than stares. Hateful, watchful, but only stares. Nobody ever bothered to tell him what the dwarrow had even said; no one thought it seemed important or they were too aghast to try, but either way, he made a friend of an Elf lord that day, and the way the threat was handled seemed to at least soften the lord to the dwarrows, if only a little bit.

After the months moved slowly, the lack of sun and the cold mornings were taking a terrible toll on the hobbits, regardless of this second chance given to them. Hamfast kept his good cheer, and Primula was doing everything she could to prove her usefulness along the mountain, her laughter a windchime as she spoke of her new friends in the kitchens, of a hearty fellow named Bombur with enough kids to rival that of the previous _old Took!_

Bilbo was..- well, he was just grateful they were putting their best foot forward.

News spread too slow from the West, of what lay of the Shire, of who remained. The King of the Blue Mountains had never responded to a single inquiry from Erebor, and Bilbo could tell it was making Thorin restless. Truly, it was making them all uneasy.

Bilbo wasn't entirely sure he _wanted_ to know; if knowing for certain there was absolutely nothing to hope for, or worse, if there _was_ something left. Knowing there was no chance to retrieve his old life seemed more a comfort knowing his fate was set in the mountain, but to find those rolling hills of home were still out there, were still able to hold their gardens, to light the fuse in their hearts where they can once again feel the breeze rushing off of the river, hearing the rushing of water trickle through the brook, the chirping of birds and the quiet. It seemed like a cruel reality he couldn't bare.

The yearning of knowing home was just to the West, but just entirely out of reach, was worse than not having one at all.

That was then, and this is now. A mountain, a king, dutifully playing the part of consort that he never wanted.

Thorin assured him the Mind healer would be there in a matter of months but it meant so very little when he still woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. When he dreads the sight of himself in his washroom mirror, with his cheeks growing sunken and the circle under his eyes turning a deep purple. When breathing is a chore and the tremours never really went away. Some days were more manageable than others, but never were they easy.

He never even got around to planting his sunflowers seeds.

Bilbo's meant to get around to it, on the nights where he's sitting alone at his desk, hands ink-stained and fingers quill calloused, slouching in his seat deeply lost in thought. Many afternoons warmed by the fireplace and the reverberating hum of the vents were his only real company. When he could be making a small garden to care for, but never had the heart enough to try. No, in this case, hobbits and sunflowers were much the same; they wilt without the sun, and were never meant to survive in the mountains.

  
  


It was a cold and windy day, spring was approaching and damn well should have been here by now, but the seasons acted differently this side of the Misty Mountains and so Winter was dragging on far longer than deemed appropriate by those desperate to be outdoors. And, on this cold day, Primula and Drogo were looking at him with such anxious excitement, fussing over their tea cups and giggling quietly with bright smiles that practically begged him to ask the right question; the correct question being " _what has gotten you two in such a mood?_ " to which, with such an elated burst, Drogo excitedly proclaimed " _We're pregnant!_ "

Bilbo nearly choked.

"Really?" he asked, nearly pushing himself from his seat, his eyes dancing between their sweet lit faces, " _Why!_ It's taken you two a bit! I feel like I've been waiting ages for this little dear to finally join us!" Bilbo smiled brightly, "This is incredible news! Seem's to be the season too, with Daisy Cotton now expecting her forth, and sweet Violet of Tuckborough expecting her first with that nice young dwarvish fellow from mining!"

"Violet is expecting!" Primula said excitedly, "oh goodness she really did grow up too, didn't she? Silly Took of a girl," she laughed, "her parents had been so _shellshocked_ she found comfort with a dwarf, and to really think they forbade her seeing him for two months!"

"Actually, they forbade her from seeing him _forever_ but the fellow was kind enough to visit." Drogo made a thoughtful look before looking towards his wife, "What was his name again?"

"Something with a B, I think," Primula scrunched her nose, "sweet fellow who can't speak common, I heard."

"I heard he had a piece of metal in his head," Bilbo replied, "Though Lobelia isn't the most reliable gossip, as much as she enjoys it."

"I hear she's doing a bit better," Drogo commented, "speaks a little more these days, but still very little. Listens mostly."

"I agree," Bilbo tapped his finger against his cup, chewing the inside of his cheek, "She's been much more pleasant after.. everything. I don't remember the last time I dreaded her visits." Bilbo paused, tipping the edge of the glass to his lips before saying, "how rude of me, I didn't even ask how far along you are?"

Drogo placed his hands lovingly over his wifes, cupping them together. Primula tilted her head a moment, "I'd say about a month or so, but I won't know for certain until I see our healers."

Bilbo smiled, but before he could respond Drogo interjected, "and we wished to ask you something."

Confused, Bilbo replied, "of course, anything."

"Well," the couple looked between themselves, and Bilbo noted a small nod from Primula before Drogo continued. "Aye, we 'ave, uhm, well you see, ah...- We 'ave been talking for some time, y'see, in the case we were to ah- actually have a little'un, and we both wanted you, being a dear friend and, well, I would even say you were far _more_ a brother than you are a cousin.. and well...-" Primula gave him a nudge to the ribs, causing Drogo to sputter out " _andwewouldlikeyoutobetheiruncle._ "

The warmth that enveloped Bilbos face was answer enough.

Though, the heavy knocking on his chamber doors cut the words from his lips before he could even sate his happiness long enough to speak them. Startled, though mostly mildly surprised the world continue to move after such a joyous revelation, Bilbo excused himself to answer, but the person outside seemed barely able to wait. Balin stepped through in a hurry before Bilbo could reach him, the older dwarf eloquently apologizing though that too, was rushed.

"I am terribly sorry for intruding, Bilbo," Balin's eyes darted between him and the still seated hobbits with a polite nod, "but this cannot wait. Kings orders, I'm to collect you at once."

Bilbo furrowed his bows, arm still outstretched in front of him, lowering it as if in afterthought, "It is alright, but did something happen? Is Thorin okay-?"

"The king is well, but we have..-" Balin's voice fell off, looking at the two other hobbits pointedly, "we have news from the west."

The infectious joy from before seemed to come to an untimely end. Bilbo couldnt seem to connect his facial expression to his feelings and he must have looked _dreadful_ for Balin looked away. The straps of his suspenders seemed awfully tight and without his jacket he felt terribly under dressed. How did the temperature in the room both drop and also feel impossibly hot? It was sweltering. He felt so cold.

Bilbo pressed his lips together in a firm grim line, puckering after a moment as he chewed the inside of his cheek. "Ah."

News of the Shire.

"Are you alright, laddie?" Balin touched Bilbo's bent elbow, who seemed to suck in a sharp breath before smiling tightly.

Bilbo gave a short nod, expression pinched. "I will be." With that he turned to Drogo and Primula, one of which was halfway out her seat looking ready to bolt towards him should anything happen, but the hobbit just shook his head. "I'll be a moment," he said, almost as an afterthought, "stay a while, will you? I have food in the cupboards, feel free to help yourselves until I return." Drogo looked at him but his expression was distracted and frail, nodding just as short in response but said nothing. 

Bilbo wonders if he should have left with more comforting words but he was soon gone from his room in moments, feeling the pressure of Balin's hand against the small of his back for the briefest moments, leading him away with a brisk pace. Bilbo could barely keep up, and he feared Balin may as well drift corridor to corridor and he may very well lose him; if Bilbo had been a lesser hobbit, he very well may have, but these halls were his home now and after so many months of learning every route and trying to memorize every carving, it felt almost second nature in the twist of the caves they slid through.

It was so quiet, at this hour. It was late, he was certain of it; having been slowing tracking down the days without the help of the sun had been difficult but he's been managing. He supposed it was a half hour past eight, though not unusual for night calls and comfortable home visits, it was this unusal peculiar fear in his stomach that eventually settled as the pair finally reached the leftmost noble halls. The noise of it fell of deaf ears, as Balin escourted him to a wing he'd never seen before.

Balin found the furthest door, mounted under an intricately carved ebony dark archway with simple markings Bilbo didn't have time to observe. He could hear the talking before he was motioned inside, hearing Thorins voice rumble like smooth stones falling down the waterfall of a creek. The room was heavily lit, lanterns hung from every corner with two or three housekeepers moving quickly to air out the furniture and tending to the fireplace; the room a muted orange glow, white lights flickering off of the stones and metals embedded in the walls, and between it all was Thorin standing stiffly, speaking in rough Khuzdul to a very stern but familiar face.

"Garlun?" Bilbo barely recognized his voice, shaken and unsure and it _annoyed_ him that he could feel like such a coward at a time like this.

Garlun, the dwarf that had discovered the hobbits in the winter and very literally saved all their lives, turned to look at Bilbo. The gruff and harsh expression melted into something open and pleasant, shouting in near glee at the sight of the hobbit.

"Bilbo Baggins!" he was all gruff smiles and laughter, just as Bilbo remembered him from their long trek to the mountain; Garlun had to break away from the caravan partway through the journey to the mountain for duties of his own he had to attend to. It was a sad goodbye, as he treated many of the hobbits with good cheer and kindness, and did wonders for the faunting's spirits after such a terrible time.

Garlun had no qualms about rushing forward and swooping the hobbit into a hearty hug, which Bilbo thankfully wasn't too shocked he couldn't reciprocate.

"Look at'cha!" Garlun sat him back to his feet, which Bilbo only belatedly realized he hadn't been standing on, "Yer lookin' thicker than when I last saw you, aye! All skin a bone you were, but ah! How are ye' doin my lad?" Garlun patted down his slightly rumpled up coat, but Bilbo paid it no mind.

"Certainly better than from our first meeting and our parting," Bilbo smiled, absently hooking his thumbs in the belt hoops of his pants, "Everyone's safe now, and eating a great deal more than I fear the kitchens can keep up!"

Garlun laughs at that, before a look of recognition falls on his face, "Ah! I almost forgot congratulations! Married man now, are'ya?"

Bilbo smiled brightly at that; it was a loveless marriage, certainly, but Thorin was a very kind husband. Bilbo looked towards Thorin, as if for some confirmation, but felt his smile falter at the look of him.

He looked positively _tense_.

Thorin has a hard expression, frown deep and nose flared, eyes hard and jaw tight. Garlun either didn't notice or wouldn't acknowledge it, though Bilbo thought to assume that perhaps it had something to do with whatever conversation they had just been engaged in. Which reminded him -

"I came down with the notion there's news of home?" Bilbo finally said, turning his gaze back to Garlun, who shifted on his feet, barely noticeably. He glanced between the two dwarves. Thorin wouldn't look him in the eye, turning his head away before Garlun finally spoke up.

"We found more survivors," he began, though the joy in his voice became much softer, "a few hun'red of 'em just a few miles away o' Bree an' scattered in the forest. Most of 'em were distrustful of dwarrows, but we spoke of you and a sanctuary and they came around right quick."

Bilbo blinked, "Are they on their way? What of the Shire? Are the orcs still-"

"Slow down," Garlun raised his hand, "I'm under direct order's not t' speak of the Shire, but the hobbits will be on their way up once the snow melts, I promise ya' that."

"Direct orders?" Bilbo frowned at him, "Direct orders from _who_ exactly?"

Garlun gave him a guilty look, but before he could say anything, Thorin spoke up.

"He has the right to know," his voice was harsh, sounding strained as if having to bite back bile. "If the Iron Hills had been overrun, would you deny Dain his right to know of home? What of Erebor? Would you deny me?"

Garlun gave the king a level look, "I would do what I believed was right," though with a shake of his head, he looked at Bilbo, "but what is right, aint' always what's best. I stand by my lords orders. What I know, is best buried."

Bilbo felt his stomach lurch, "That is my _home_ ," he pressed, throat tight, "-that you are speaking so obtusely about," Bilbo spat with disgust, "My parents are buried there, and thousands more may very well lay in the snow, frozen and unmoving. Our homes defiled, families torn, and you believe that what you're hiding from me is what? _Best left buried_? How _dare_ you!" Bilbo felt his voice rise, and with it, its fretful quivering.

"Bilbo," Thorin moved forward but Bilbo stepped back.

"No, absolutely not. I'm plainly tired of your damn dwarvish secrets, thank you very much." he snapped, "I am not fragile, and I do not belong as an object for your King to decide my fate and my knowledge. Your politics bore me and have caused much unnecessary grief, which, don't think I've forgotten you _blatantly_ opting out of telling the kingdom taking us in as refugees that we were in fact, _refugees_! I had been chewed up and spat back out like an undercooked cod! If you dwarrows had lost your home and found no where to turn and it was well within my power to assist, I quite imagine I'd madly dash out my home with some ill notion of a silly adventure to set things right!" Bilbo could feel his fists shaking, shoulders drawn up tight and indignant with unadulterated fury that he felt had never truly quieted these long months spent in the mountain. Built up and roaring in his chest with tears beginning to well in his eyes.

He was so sick of crying, of being overly emotional and homesick to his stomach. He was tired of mistreatment and distrust and the disgust he sees in strangers eyes for stories they dare not speak of or perhaps do not know. Bilbo felt hot with frustration, tired of feigned gratitude for ' _everything_ ' the dwarrows have given him, but for Yavannas sake it isn't _enough_ , as ungrateful as it sounds. " _Let me go home_ " he wants to scream, " _I'd rather face a thousands orcs than never see my green door of Bag End again, or my mothers face above the hearth_."

"How dare you," his voice is so loud for such a silent wall that it was ramming with every punctuated word, "how dare you treat any of us like pawns instead of people. We are not numbers, or unfortunates to gawk upon and feel thankful that such a dreadful tasteless thing never happened to _you_."

Bilbo never turned to look at Thorin, who was still as a statue just ere his vision, but rather at Garlun, who looked _torn_ between moral and duty and rightfully ashamed.

There was a long time before Garlun finally raised his head to speak, but it was rough and his voice was quiet. "Master Baggins," he began, slow and deliberate, "I wish to begin by apologizing to you and behalf of those in Ered Luin," when Bilbo didn't make to speak, Garlun continued, "they are, and perhaps as an extension of m'self, are superstitious folk. King Droic, whom of which I hold in very 'igh regard, was very specific when he directed our caravan to keep silent on the ordeal. Now," Garlun glanced to Thorin, "theres much I cannot say, and much I _won't_ , but this is what I can. Master Baggins-" Garlun shook his head, "Bilbo, what happened in the Shire and to 'yer kin has shamed Ered Luin to an extent that ye' may not ever understand. You Shire-folk were integral to the survival of the mountain many years ago, and no matter the time that has passed, Dwarrows never forget their debts, and we failed you."

"This goes beyond mere chance." Garlun frowned, "I was never..- _allowed_ to know too much, but King Droic believes that the orcs didn't stumble over yer' hills by chance."

"Lord Garlun-"

"Please," Garlun gave the king a _look_ , "I know you care for this fussy creature as your consort, but he ain't your _kêlûn zazzûn yasthân_. I have a great deal of respect for you, your 'ighness, but the kingdoms don't call you _binumral_ for no-"

" _That's enough_." Thorin growled out something harsh in khuzdul which had caused Garlun's mouth to snap shut. There was an exchange and during this the dwarf moved to the hobbits side, like it was the most natural thing in all of Middle Earth to stand there. Garlun responded with a word, but Thorin seemed to cut himself off, halfway through, his hand having found the small of the hobbits back. Bilbo looked up at him, still shaking from his outburst, but his fury seemed to dispel at the..- at the _look_ Thorin was wearing. Warm and cold and Bilbo almost could describe it as _wanting_ but Thorin doesn't want and Thorin could never want _him_ and it hardly seemed fair.

Thorin seemed aware of himself after a second, his hand falling back to rest behind his back before finishing sharply. Garlun made a harsh noise but his eyes were curious instead of cold, where the King responded equally as short. With a duck of his head, the conversation dropped.

"My apologies," Garlun smiled mutely, "I misunderstood."

Thorin didn't respond. Didn't need too. Regal types rarely don't, to both Bilbo's fascination and deep frustration.

"Well thats all well and good, but what on Yavannah's green earth were you saying about the orcs?"

"Bilbo," it was Thorin to speak this time, "I believe it's time to let the lord rest, he's had a long journey."

"What? But Thorin-"

" _Nûlukh'aban_ , please." Bilbo gaped at the king for his audacity but before the words could even touch his lips, the gentle hand on his wrist had him all but deflate. All those times these past several months of putting his trust in the king, of showing his vulnerabilities to this stranger who was gentle with him, kind and quiet, all but rushed up to him at the slightest touch. Bilbo didn't feel as if he was indebted to the king, far from it, but he felt after everything that the king has done for him and for the other lost souls of the west, Thorin deserved at least this.

Pressing his lips in a tight line, he nodded.

"I'm truly sorry, melekûn," Garlun frowned, "but hopefully be'fer I go, I can try and make this up to you." His face cracked into something humourous before continuing to say, "I'll make sure ta' stop by and see the potat'o farmer again be'fer I'm on m' way out!"

"Hopefully we'll part on better terms," Bilbo spoke tightly but meant it genuinely, "Feel free to come by my chamber anytime you wish, tea is at 4, food served several times a day and any company is good company."

After exchanging the last of the pleasantries and quiet goodbyes, Thorin lead Bilbo back out into the hall. It was a silent and awkward affair, but Bilbo was too frustrated to much notice it. It wasn't until he was back at his door that he realized that the king had walked him back, and felt awfully embarrassed for having not noticed it.

Thorin looked deeply disquieted by something, his expression distracted, deeply etched with something worrisome. He barely seemed more aware of the company than his companion did. Bilbo opened his door and watched absently as Thorin walked in without so much as a _by-your-leave_ but it seemed hardly appropriate to feel up in arms about it. They were, legally speaking, rightfully married, and Bilbo had to remind himself of such often when he would forget his companion was considerably also his partner.

Drogo and Primula must have left after Bilbo did, as he noticed their dishes sitting by the sink and their seats vacated.

Thorin moved himself to sit in one of the armchairs closer to the fireplace, now that his room was more furnished than previously, it made a comfortable scene. The fire was roaring but calm, warm light dancing on all four walls and it hardly seemed to matter much.

Thorin looked troubled, Bilbo decided. He called him that.. that _name_ again. _Nalukaban_ something or other.

It happens sometimes, the hobbit noticed, and always to the same strange affect. As if Thorin revealed some horrible secret he wasn't suppose to by saying it. Bilbo didn't know what it meant, though he's almost certain it isn't an insult, but it's _something_ he cannot quite place, and it's a bothersome business trying to translate a language that everyone under the mountain is so keen on keeping close to their chest. Thorin is the only one who speaks it so freely around him, but even then it's just words or little phrases here and there when the the dwarf either isn't paying attention or feels as though Common words are insufficient.

Though the king always seemed bothered whenever he addressed the hobbit with these words; always looks tongue twisted and scandalized or confused. Not that the hobbit minded too dearly, but it was certainly a pattern he noticed.

It was happening again, he suspected, but he only wished to know why.

He wished to know a lot of things, truthfully.

Bilbo approached the king without a word; his thoughts scrambling over the possibility of the Shire having been targeted repeatedly in tandem; of why's, and who's, and what they could have been hunting and if they ever found it - of whether if they did, if they'd ever leave or make home there. Thoughts of then made the air thin and his breath short, but it took only a hand that covered his now clenched fist to carefully pull him away from those dreary worries and pull him back before he could become lost in it.

Thorin was looking up at him from his spot on the armchair, and his expression was equally as unreadable as it's always been. The fire made soft shadows that showed the sharpness of his cheekbones and thinness of his lips, and he looked so very tired but also so distinctly regal and firm. He was solid. Solid and so very unlike the kind of creature Bilbo thought he'd spend the rest of his life with, and yet...-

Bilbo frowned.

No. Thorin was kind, careful, thoughtful, and truly a coragous and determined king. It seemed hardly fair that he should be bound to someone as emotionally unstable and useless as Bilbo happened to be. A hobbit was nothing of note in dwarvish politics, he wasn't brave, or respectable, and can barely keep his heart in check let alone be of any use ruling a kingdom he very well didn't deserve to call claim to. Thorin was a dwarrow of the highest regard, a true hero to his people, married off to an unknown hobbit who stands quietly at his side with no great story attached to him. Bilbo was just... _Bilbo_.

They never tried to pretend that their marriage was anything other than out of convenience and necessity.

That seemed hardly fair, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a new computer! First time in over several years and that means I don't have to sit around and wait around for an hour for an update that doesn't work, or worry about the charger cord getting pulled. Hopefully, that means I'll attempt to actually work on my stories without worry and get some actually posted. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and all the wonderful comments you all left (and the few who hunted me down on tumblr to talk to me, everything you said was very uplifting and I appreciate it a lot) - That being said, I had been asked whether or not I automatically post art on here based on my fic, and the answer is _no_. If I do not have the artists explicit permission, I would not do that; (though I love having the opportunity - I've never had anyone make anything for my work before and I'm seeing little things pop up here and there that warms my heart, so thank you to everyone involved.) Thank you! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Also: the literal use of "Thia le perian groga" is "appears thee hobbit fear" because I was in too much of a rush to get the grammar correct and also because Sindarin doesn't seem to have a word for "threaten" so "to fear" is a close second. (If anyone knows a good site for Sindarin that I'm not aware of, please feel free to link it to me and maybe I can place a better translation down because I really think "appears thee hobbit fear" sounds really stupid; or if you can create a closer translation for "It appears as if you've been threatened" I would really appreciate it. Thank you!)
> 
> Khuzdul:  
> kêlûn zazzûn yasthân - life/bond/partner - literally _your one_.  
>  binumral - without love -literally _the loveless_.  
>  nûlukh'aban - _My moonstone_.


	10. Red Poppy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Holy shit, I've officially hit _a thousand_ kudos, oh my god. I've never had that happen before. I'm so thankful for all the really great response's I've gotten to this fic, it's become one of my favourite projects to work on and I never really expected to get this far in the story (usually I give up on fics -- I have a huge assortment of stories I just never finished, and I'm hoping if I can really steel myself and actually _finish_ a fic for once, I can go back to older stories and give them the same effort.) I usually only write for unpopular or small ships, so my stories have never really gotten the attention this one has and I'm thankful for the insanely sweet response.-- It's been crazy trying to find free time, I wish I was joking; I've had my first time of freedom to work on this and finish this chapter today because I had morning shift instead of my usual second, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I hope you enjoy! Hopefully will be able to get more chapters out, but anything is better than nothing.
> 
> Red Poppy: Consolation

Bilbo rather hated Royal Court.

He hated the lavish uniform he was expected to tote about, which was quite frankly, _several times_ too heavy for his body; rich in gems and threaded in fine metals that he was quite convinced that in the case of an assassination attempt, their weapon would simply bounce away and the assassin themselves would just look all the more silly for it. It was far too much than he was comfortable with, and no matter how much he suggested he wear something... well, even a _fraction_ simpler than toting about half the kingdoms treasury, Thorin would not hear it. The only solace he had was being about to wear his circlet, as simple and light as it was; and although he wished he didn't have to wear it at all, as the tricky thing was ought to become tangled and tight to his head, it was at least unable to cause him a severe headache in comparison to the heavy thing Thorin chooses to wear so regally.

Balin quite assured him it was necessary to prove his status through the jewelry he wore, thought Bilbo had _sworn_ he had gotten, mind you, _very publicly married_ to the king, and the rest is just chaff.

Unfortunately, either dwarves are stubborn or have very short memory, he must wear a few times his weight in jewelry that drag down his arms and shoulders, leaving him simply thankful he could sit during court. Otherwise.. well, he'd rather not think on it.

Dwarves rather enjoyed their theatrics, anyhow.

The courtroom itself was another... rather wild affair that made the poor hobbit rather dizzy to focus on.

Held in the very center of the mountain, the walls were a mile high and around, intricate dwarvish carvings of previous lords adorned the outer edges of the room, tall and imposing. The ceiling a dark dim glow with no determinable end, wrapping around the base of the mountains core that came down to the very edge that created Thorin's throne. The thin walkway up to the throne was a distance walk, rigid but somehow forever standing, with a drop so deep it was impossible to see the ground. The lighting was a faint blue glow, the stone ancient and with every step those approaching were either impressed or terrified; emitting an unmatched sense of power, serious and cold.

Above the kings head is an empty crater where a stone once resided. Now that stone lays cracked and destroyed, adorning around the hobbits curls where it holds no more power than any other stone in the mountain, but Bilbo could never truly understand what that means.

Bilbo snuck a glance towards the dwavish king, tracing the straightness of his broad shoulders, arms very deliberate over the rests of his throne. His legs parted, his presentation taking up empty space and seemingly bold and belonging among it, whereas Bilbo feel's as if he simply festers there along the very edges. He straightened his back. Bilbo stretched his fingers over the rests of his own chair, exhaling softly as he looked down at his feet, looking at the soft silver anklet that wrapped around his ankle with one chain falling to his toes, wrapped around the middle.

The hobbit returned his gaze to the dwarves speaking to the King.

Goodness, Bilbo felt guilty for barely paying attention.

There was a dispute between two grocer's, both of which had given their hand to an unnamed third party who wasn't present.

Bilbo had the very distinct feeling the third was a hobbit, though neither dwarrowdam had yet to say so aloud. Though his understanding of this issue, is they both believe they've fallen in love, as this third unnamed party's _food_ sold in the market had taken their stomachs and their hearts. Though they're slipping in and out of Khuzdul and Common, it's clear they're asking the king his permission for a formal duel in order to win this third parties hand, and further confront this third party and attempt to court them; if they reject the first, then the second shall be allowed to attempt courting; though neither wishes to be the _second_.

Thorin seemed amused, but dismissed a duel.

"The matters of the heart cannot be decided in the Kings Court," Thorin eventually tells them, "If both believe this is your _zazzûn_ , then you must make this matter known. I cannot decide the heart of your beloved, and normally as this would be decided with the party involved, I can assume this love is a _melekûn_."

"We come to you as you know what wins the heart of these creatures," said the first dwarrowdam, her beard a fiery red, "I understand they are... _soft_ your highness, and I fear scaring away the soft creature."

Bilbo felt his cheeks grow hot, "Aye!" Said the other dwarrowdam, her beard finely plaited and a silvery white, though age barely shows, "I'm 'shamed to admit I do'n understand what a halfling may desire in a mate, and it seems offensive to.. ask one."

"Which is why we've come to you, my lord," said the first, "if we must win her hand in a duel, so be it!"

Thorin looked briefly stricken, before his expression softened, nodding to the dwarrowdams. "I admit it is a very difficult thing, courting a hobbit." Thorin looked towards Bilbo, his expression open and soft, but relented, "I fear you have me at a loss, but perhaps my consort may be of more use to you than I."

Bilbo's eyes opened a fraction wider, _oh dear_.

"Ah," Bilbo straightened in his seat, looking towards the dwarrowdams who looked up at him expectedly. "Well, ah-"

Hm.

"Well, firstly, don't call .. her? is it? .. don't call her a halfling, I'd rather think we're not half of _anything_ thank you very much." Bilbo shifted, "And Hobbits are simple creatures. Prowess in battle mean very little to us, actually, well - at least to _me_ anyways, I can't much speak for us all, now can I? Even so, if you wish to court a hobbit, you must spend _time_ with them. Flowers, good food, and even better company mean more to us than gems and grand displays, at any rate."

"No gems?" the first dwarrowdam looked as if she were sucking on a lemon, "but how am'i suppose'ta prove I can .. _provide_ for her?"

"Food." Bilbo says again, "Find out her favourite dish, make it for her. Ask any of the local hobbit florists and they'll tell you which flowers to give for a courting proposal, and I even have a few I can recommend to help either of you get started." Comfortingly, he adds, "if she begins to reciprocate, she will make an effort to do the same. Big declarations and all that are only acceptable if the proposal is accepted, after it is or isn't will be obvious but I must stress to never push. If she declines she will do so in her own right. If she accepts I'm certain she will be happy to explain what it means to court a hobbit."

Seemingly sated, and freshly determined, the dwarrowdams gave their thanks and respective bows before hurrying out of the court.

Watching their retreating backs, Thorin turned to Bilbo, shoulders relaxed. " _zaglel_ , are hobbits truly this simple?"

"I feel as if we've had this conversation before," Bilbo responded simply, stretching his fingers and faintly wondering what he was just called, "riches mean very little. They take up space which could be room for a larder, and what more does someone need other than plentiful food and comfortable company? I would have died a happy hobbit indeed with a book in my hand and a pipe in my mouth."

"I had not realized you felt countless riches to be so pointless," the king smiled.

"Well I don't quite think how I feel truly matters as I'm not currently in the Shire, now am I?"

Thorin gave him a strange look, "do you truly feel as if-"

Before he could finish, the grand gate that the dwarrowdams had vanished from, a tall man in a long dusty cloak took their place. Thorin quieted, turning to his forefront as they watched their new visitor take the long trek to the throne, and the closer he became the more strangely familiar he looked. His wore a wide brimmed and pointed hat, his walking stick clicking against the stone as he stepped.

The angles of his face were exaggerated by the blue glow of the throne room, casting deep shadows over his already weary face.

"Hail Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain," the announcement had shocked Bilbo, as it was ever present and loud, the noise seemingly unaware that the man in question was still some distance away. There was a deliberate moment, where he turned his head towards the hobbit, eventually stopping in his tracks, feet away from the bottom steps that lead up to the throne, "and Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna and Bungo Baggins, though it is always a pleasure to have you and your families company, it is a great deal dreadful for us to meet once again under these circumstances."

Bilbo's lips thinned, sniffing, he asked, "You must forgive me, as you have quite caught me at a disadvantage. I don't think I know your name."

The grey man placed his walking stick before him, thin fingers lacing together to create a bridge where his chin could rest. "Yes, yes, my dear sir, but you do know my name, though you don't remember that I belong to it." His voice was bemused and kind and so terribly familiar though Bilbo could not pinpoint where he remembers it from, "I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means me."

Faint memories of fireworks flashed in Bilbo's mind. Of celebrations so large and excitable they lasted to the early hours of the morning, with the grass all matted underfoot and the smell of sweets premeditating his breath, intermingling warmth in his belly and his blue ribbon wrapped securely on his person. The crowns of flower atop crazed wind flung hair and flushed freckled cheeks; the laughter that hung in his ears was a haunting echo that this man dragged like shackled by his feet.

In his memories was his mothers tittering and a great grey wizard with such warmth in his bearing, always the life of the party. _A hobbit in every way, except size_ his mother once explained, _disturber of peace but always better for it._

“I heard news of the Shire," Bilbo caught the wizards eyes, sharp and telling, and Bilbo could feel his sadness mirrored there. "and though I wished such a thing were not true, the land of hobbits had been untouched by such horrors for far too long. What has happened to you, son of a dear old friend of mine, is far too cruel to speak of.”

"Gandalf," Bilbo breathed, "I haven't seen you since I was a fauntling, I barely recognized you."

"You know Tharkûn?" Thorin looked at Bilbo with surprise, "This is the m-" Thorin stopped, remembering the audience, though small between advisers but an audience none the less. "He is the one I sent for."

"Which I am grateful for," Gandalf nodded, "though I would have come sooner, had I not had business in the west to tend to. Never the less, I am here, and with the Kings permission I would like to begin."

"Of course," but when Thorin made to stand, Gandalf shook his head.

"All due respect, Your Magesty, but my work is better done without an audience. As Bilbo's mother was a dear friend of mine, there is much to discuss, and much to do without impeding upon not only my own work, but yours as well."

Thorin looked ready to argue, when Bilbo stood.

"It's alright," Bilbo nodded towards the king, "and he is right. It seems silly for you to have to cut any more time out of your already busy schedule to handle these silly affairs. Besides, you can't exactly cancel court on a whim when there's many that wish to seek your audience."

Thorin was wearing an unreadable expression, halfway between standing and sitting before leveling a look at Bilbo, returning to his seat. "As you wish," he conceded, "Dwalin will ensure you and the wizard return to your rooms safely," he snapped his eyes over to the guard who stood impossibly straight by Thorins' flank. They exchanged glances, Thorin wordlessly gesturing with his head for the dwarrow to follow as Bilbo began to descend the stairs. Bilbo walked carefully, mindful of his balance in the clunky jewelry which, thankfully, Gandalf didn't comment on. The wizard outstretched his hand to place behind the hobbit's weighed down shoulders, with a slight flourish of his cloak, the hobbit felt pounds lighters as they walked the length of the hall down to the main gates. Behind was a long line of dwarrows waiting to enter.

Many were talking among themselves, but the hall seemed to quiet when he stepped through.

Bilbo couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to go very wrong, but Gandalf was at his side and Dwalin was ever imposing. The feeling only lessened, but a thousands eyes stared at him, some less kind than others; no words were spoken to him as they trailed their way out towards the royal quarters, but many baited breaths seemed to follow them there.

Bilbo barely focused on the walk back to his rooms, and Gandalf seemed rather forgiving for his silence as he stayed his tongue; his staff and Dwalins' footsteps the only noise that kept him company. They reached his doors quickly, and as Bilbo opened them to allow the wizard entry, Dwalin gave a low nod and did not follow.

Bilbo found that the wizard could make himself right at home without being offered. Bemused but distracted, Bilbo was momentarily grateful he didn't have to find the words to be the host. Closing his doors with a heavy thud, Gandalf found comfort in the lounge chair by the fireplace, the same one Thorin often favored when he visited, with the wool blankets draped over the back; it was comfortable and spacious and just the right size for the wizard. Bilbo, rather mindlessly, grabbed a couple leftover biscuits from his breakfast, placing a few on a small plate before grabbing a kettle and prepping the water. He carried both towards the fireplace, offering the plate to the wizard who graciously helped himself to the snack while Bilbo set the kettle into the fire to boil.

"You ought to remove those silly trinkets from your person, you look as if you're wearing half your weight in gems, I daresay."

Startled, Bilbo actually forgot about it. "It certainly feels heavier than it looks, unfortunately," he said, starting with bracelets and rings adorning his arms. He places each piece of jewelry onto the end table, placing each in order as removed as is expected of him, keeping track of which gem and metal piece is to be returned to their specific containers. The necklace's were the largest burdens of all, leaving reddened indents in his skin against the back of his neck where they pressed so painfully against. "I'm afraid no matter how much I fuss about it, dwarves are set I wear these ridiculous ornaments like a tree on Yule."

Gandalf laughed, kind and smooth and very much like he did in the far off memories Bilbo kept stored away. "Dwarrows are very traditional creatures. Those stones you shucked off were that of the previous Queen's, as was the Queen before that and the Consort before her. Old, sacred metal, and it does not surprise me that you'd be expected to wear them the same. Though.." Gandalf noted the circlet Bilbo wore, watching as Bilbo carefully tucked away the rest of the Courts Jewels and forgo removing the crown. "That is a very peculiar crown you wear, Bilbo."

Bilbo reached for it thoughtlessly, the tips of his fingers brushing over the twists and branches of the circlet. Bilbo made a noise in the back of his throat, "Thorin made it," he replied with a sigh, "It's lovely, but a trinket like the rest. That's what Thorin tell's me, anyways. It's a pretty thing, but mostly a pain to take on and off all the time. I've terrible trouble when it get's tangled."

Gandalf rubbed his thumb over the back of his half eaten biscuit, studying the hobbit bemusedly, "never in all my long years would I ever have expected to hear someone speak of such a stone like one would an unnecessary mantle piece," he chuckled, "nor did I ever expect to see someone like Bilbo Baggins so far from his front door."

"The last bit was hardly my choice," Bilbo leaned down with a poker, adjusting the logs in the fire, "and the first, well. It's the truth, no matter how pretty a stone is."

Gandalf smiled but chose not to respond. They were silent for a little while, the cracks of the flame good enough company as they waited for the kettle to boil. The whistle came and went, and Bilbo was tucked up comfortably in his own armchair opposite of the wizard, tea cup in one hand with the steam rolling on his face like a kiss he could melt into. Gandalf sipped, though quiet Bilbo was under the distinct impression he was contemplating something. His thoughts proved true after they were halfway through their mugs, when Gandalf began to speak.

He spoke of his mother.

Gandalf told tales of their first meeting, as he came to the Shire to celebrate Bilbo's great grandfathers 70th birthday, and there was young Belladonna by the party tree, running around with a wooden sword and causing havoc to the other young fauntlings. She was bold and loud and quite taken with the wizard, and near demanded he take her away on one of his adventures. Gandalf laughed as he recalled her persistence, and spoke fondly of when she came of age and finally forced her way out of the Shire, loudly ignoring the shouts of her surprised relatives as she ran after the wizard with a haphazard attempt of luggage strapped to her back.

Bilbo rather enjoyed hearing of his mother when she was young from someone who didn't see her as a disturber of the peace that she surely was at heart. Gandalf had much to say on the matter, his tea half finished by his elbow and his pipe hanging loosely from his lips, he smiled and told whimsical tales of their adventures, and their long walks to The Last Homely House and back again; of all her battles, her struggles, and her victories. She captured the hearts of many on her travels, but only one could capture hers.

Through, all this pleasant speak, Bilbo should have known, was all leading him down a path as gently as one could manage, down that road which was as overgrown and dark as a road could be, festering and waiting for the hobbit to eventually stumble upon it unawares.

Bilbo barely even realized his feet had caught on the vines, before Gandalf's nudge caused him to tumble down the path before he could even realize what was happening.

His mothers bright and brilliant adventures were overshadowed when Gandalfs voice became smooth and low, his smoke rings foggy and seeping with purpose Bilbo had forgotten he wished to prepare for.

"She always wished for the world outside the Shire," Gandalf hummed, "but she always knew it would be there when she was ready to return."

Bilbo's fingers curled and uncurled around his mug, long gone cold but he's since forgotten he's still holding it. "I don't think you'll ever meet a hobbit that would ever wish to leave the Shire for good, you know. You'll never find a land more green and fertile than those of the soil of Hobbiton, from the Michel Delving on the White Downs, to the further East Farthing of Brandy Hall. Home is home, is home, and so forth."

"And yet, here we are."

Bilbo pressed his tongue against his cheek, "hardly by choice."

"It's unfortunate, really," Gandalf looked towards the fire, his eyes distant, "I often forget that no land in Middle Earth is sacred enough to prevent vile hands from clawing." he leaned back in his chair in thought, "I remember a time where much of the world hardly knew of the existence of hobbits. I only wish to understand what changed."

"You're speaking to one of the same heart, you understand," Bilbo pulled up his legs, crossing them under his body in his seat, "though, to be plain, I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself."

Gandalfs eyes flicked to the hobbit for only a moment before returning to the fire. There was a deliberately slow pause, where the wizard puffed on his pipe thoughtfully for a little while, before he seemed to remember something. A smile touched his lips before he reached into his cloak, pulling out a small box wrapped in a little blue and familiar ribbon. "I really must be getting on in age, for I almost forgot."

Bilbo accepted the small gift readily, nodding his thanks as he examined the outside. His thumb slipped over the ends of the ribbon, where he noticed the fine embroidery at the end. _B.T_ , the lettering in fine cursive and smooth and it finally dawned on him where he recognized this from.

"How did you find this?" Bilbo blinked up at the wizard, brows raising, "this is my mothers ribbon."

"Indeed it is."

"My mother had been looking for this for ages before.. well," Bilbo chewed on his tongue, "I... she felt so embarrassed she couldn't give it to my father for their wedding. What hobbit doesn't have their ribbon on their wedding day?"

Gandalf smiled at that, "I'm sure her wedding went fine without it, but she had left the thing in Rivendell on her last trip to see the Elves, and when I traveled there after, I was tasked to return it." Gandalf shifted his pipe between his lips, "its unfortunate that I had been so sidetracked that I hadn't had time to visit my old friend in quite some time, and so I kept her ribbon on my person. Upon hearing of your union, it seemed fitting a time to return this item where it belongs."

Bilbo examined the simple thing for a moment, carefully unwrapping it, stretching it out between his palms with the little box it was holding together sat unopened on his lap. "It's rather funny to hear all her troubles happened because she left this silly thing behind," Bilbo twisted it between his fingers, "I left mine back in Bag End many months ago. But they don't do weddings here like they do in the Shire. Hardly mattered."

"Speaking of weddings," Gandalf puffed, "I must say congratulations are certainly in order. Though I must apologize for having had missed such an occasion.

"I'm sure you've seen many dwarvish royal weddings in your time, mine was perhaps hardly any different."

"That was no regular dwarvish wedding, my good friend, for the son of my old friend was getting married. I very much wished to be there the moment I heard the news that Bilbo Baggin's was marrying a distant King of the East; but time was not on my side, and I had much to do in the west, and the many months travel between there and here was too great to pass in such a short time."

"My feelings are not hurt, if that's what you're worried about." Bilbo placed the ribbon down by his hip, finally picking up the box, "This past year has been dreadfully... overwhelming, to say the least. Take no offense when I say I've hardly noticed much outside of my own dread, though perhaps your whiz poppers would have made the day far more joyous than it was."

"You sound terribly resigned," the wizard noted, "which I had my own worries about when I received the kings letter." Gandalf spread his fingers over the arm rests, frowning at the fire, "Though I hope you do not take this as critical, but I must ask. Why did you choose to marry a king? Why Thorin Oakenshield? Why this kingdom and why so far from home? Your real home?"

Bilbo inhaled sharply, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from sighing. He was wary of repeating the same tired story of his ill fitted life laced with miscommunication and treaties out of his own control.

"It was arranged," Bilbo said simply, "Thorin is a good king, and a kind husband, but our marriage is loveless." _Or at least not reciprocated_ , but Bilbo kept that to himself. "It's a rather long story, actually."

"I enjoy a good tale as much as any other, and I have plenty of time to spare." Was the wizards reply, still huffing away on his pipe and Bilbo figured if this wizard is here to help with his... fits, then a show of trust had to be given, no matter how difficult the story.

So, he started at the very beginning.

Gandalf was a very good listener. He hummed at all the right places, and asked questions precisely when he was suppose to, but otherwise he was quiet. Bilbo couldn't remember how long he had been talking, his hands dancing wildly as he explained each situation as a scene from something as if it hadn't been him, but perhaps from the perspective of someone else. Bilbo let out an unhappy laugh when he finally approached the topic of his attacks, but Gandalf did not comment on it, and said nothing for a good long while when Bilbo finally finished.

The hobbit had no worries of judgement, as the wizard had a very concerning look that knitted his brows that told him that the maiar was simply thinking.

"You spoke of a treaty," Gandalfs voice was so sudden it startled the hobbit, who realized the silence had stretched for a much longer time than he had perhaps realized. "Of an old war, and the ancient King Dwumlim, with a hobbit beloved that turned the tides of what would have become a fallen kingdom." Gandalf took his pipe from his lips, using the length of his sleeve to polish the underside before letting it hang from his fingers on his lap. "For Ered Luin, this may be legend, but here with me, I can assure you this is no myth. Ered Luin was suppose to fall. Even Lord Elrond foresaw its mines lost to the orcs as the dwarves had seen in their ancient Kingdom of Moria. What no one expected, least of all the dwarves themselves, was the young and the spirited Fallohidish hobbits, long before the time of _Tooks_ , but the direct ancestors of them, or more interestingly _your_ direct ancestor." Gandalf looked very far away as he spoke, his hands very still in his lap. "Her name was Magnolia Fallohidish. Your mothers grandmother of a great deal of many greats, around the era with the early settlers of the Shire became... the Shire."

"I'm rather read up on my genealogy, but I've never heard that name before," Bilbo replied skeptically, but Gandalf merely smiled.

"Back in the early years, Hobbits were not as occupied on preserving their history as they were on preserving their lives. Though not the greatest prowess in battle, Hobbits in the first age could avoid detection if they did not wish to be found, and were quick on their feet like no other. Their precision could match that of the elves, even so far as having an incredible capacity for accuracy, as they were very small and had to do what they must to survive in the lands of much larger folk than themselves."

"Magnolia was," Gandalf shifted in his seat to sit more comfortably, and in his eyes a small spark caught fire, "much like your mother."

"You knew her?"

"Knew her? Why, Bilbo, she was my friend." Gandalf shook his head, "it does not matter. Your story was very telling and took me back to an age I have not thought about in such a long time." He paused, then "You see, Bilbo Baggins, your ancestor was one of the bravest and fiercest warriors, and yet one of the kindest and humblest leaders, I have ever known in my lifetime. I am very old, my friend, very old and some days I can feel it settle in my bones if I dare dwell of the past for longer than even a moment. Magnolia is a legend that faded into the tombs of that mountain, that even it's dwellers forget her very name. Her history settled somewhere in the margins of dusty parchment that no dwarrow may ever find again, and I truly find this a pity."

"Though I may never know the circumstance of her meeting with the great ancient king of Ered Luin, I knew their love was something fervent, passionate and unyeilding. Her pull to the war was when her beloved pushed her away in fear of her life to be lost to the orcs, but she was unswayed by fear and gathered herself an army that laid siege in the mountain without the Kings knowledge. Magnolia and her troops pushed against the swarm for many days and many nights, the legend only tells of three days, but from my memories it was closer to months before the orcs eventually broke."

"What of the story they do not tell, however, is much darker."

"Darker?" Bilbo forgot himself, snapping his mouth shut in embarrassment for interrupting, though Gandalf hadn't looked bothered.

The Wizard nodded, placing his pipe between his lips again, inhaling deeply. He exhaled the smoke, whifting and twirling in air where it shaped the image of a malformed orc head, it's mouth twisted in a vile snarl, teeth barred and eyes wide and horrible; hair pulled back in braids that reflect the fires light, with a scar against its mouth that twisted up into a permanent smile. It seemed to be moving in the smoke, though Bilbo knew that surely couldn't be possible. "Have you ever heard of the name Durzol?"

Bilbo hadn't, so he shook his head.

"Good," Gandalf responded, "if any horrors were to be lost in time, I am thankful that this is one of them."

Bilbo looked towards the smoke of the orc head as it slowly began to dissipate, feeling a shudder run down his spine.

"Who is he?"

" _She_ was a pale orc," Gandalf breathed, "who commanded the armies underneath the mountain. One of the very first Orc Overlords, vile and terrible and everything the people of middle earth would not be prepared for today." With a flick of his finger against his pipe, he continued, "some say she was the mistress of Sauron himself, though much of that is speculation."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I am telling you this because the reason the war ended in the mountain, was because Magnolia removed the beasts head from her shoulders, and bared it as a gift to her beloved with a ribbon upon it's head, as an apology for disobeying his wishes."

Bilbo's mouth audibly snapped shut.

Gandalf continued calmly, pipe in mouth, "She had children, from a previous marriage of course, where her spouse had died of plague many years prior. Her children, who had fought along side her, returned to the Shire as champions, and began the proper settling of the land as it's leaders, where their mother stayed with her love till her passing days. She died of old age and very loved in the dwarven kingdom, having slaughtered many orcs in her path, and taken as many hearts with it."

The wizard exhaled once again, and this time there was a dancing figure with big feet and long hair that reached her lower back, twirling in place in an unfamiliar garb with long braids running through her hair like a river. Gandalf made another puff of smoke appear, taking the place of the previous where a smiling face with curly hair seemed to laugh before, she too, faded. With one last exhale, Gandalf let out puffs in rapid fire, and there, in the middle of the clouds stood the long haired hobbit, shoulders drawn with a scythe in one hand and a bow strapped along her back. She moved like smoke among the clouds which formed enemies that dissipated when her weapons made contact, her feet in a steady dance that ended when an arrow went flying towards Bilbo's head.

"Your grandmother of many greats was a brave woman, much like your mother, and much like yourself." The wizard settled, "It would certainly seem fitting that an arrangement of marriage would assume the same protections for you as it did for your ancestor. Assuming Thorin's reputation and his kingdom, it seems this would have made the best choice in comparison to the Blue Mountains.”

Bilbo _vehemently_ disagreed in the comparison made between himself and his ancestor. He could never hope to obtain even an _ounce_ of her bravery in his lifetime, but before he could rebuke, the second part of the wizards statement threw him off guard.

“His reputation?” Bilbo frowned, "what reputation?"

Gandalf let out a jolly laugh, "Ah, yes. Thorin Oakenshield, the brave King under the Mountain, the fierce, and among many other names, one of which entirely less flattering but all still including, _the loveless_.” 

“Loveless?" Gandalf gave Bilbo a strange look then, but it was as unreadable as ever, "That seems rather harsh, wouldn't you think?” 

“Well," The wizard nodded, as if in agreement but continued none the less, "as a king it is his duty to find a spouse and sire heirs to the throne. However, now with his nephews, it became less a public affair and more a private one, I suspected, but I’ve always had my suspicions that his proclivities always were ones of the male variety, but any such notions he kept close to the chest and private. Though dwarves don’t care about that sort of thing, its expected that a king choose a bearer for children, though this arrangement seemed to save his majesty a world of trouble.”

“Why, I suppose he may have stayed a bachelor had such a thing never come about.” Gandalf said, almost as an afterthought, “Though there isn’t a word for it in khuzdul as there is in Common. Most would have just assumed he sold himself to his duties and never would have thought twice of it.” 

_If Thorin had a choice it certainly wouldn’t have been me_ , Bilbo thought rather suddenly and bitterly, though the force of the horrible feeling attached made him visibly shake. Bilbo sniffed, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. _There's no need to think of such things now,_ when a thought occurred to him.

"What did you mean, exactly, when you said that this kingdom was a better choice?" Instead of answering him, Gandalf responded by shooting him a level look. Bilbo didn't know what to say about that until the wizard looked back towards the fire.

"There are some things not worth dwelling on for the time. Besides, it would be much better for you to hear from the source than just a messenger as old as I." Gandalf sat up straighter, "Either way, I am here for a specific job, one of which pertaining to your fits, and that of which I should very well get started on, yes?"

Bilbo had much he wanted to say, but Gandalf's words came easier and he directed Bilbo back to the box he had received as a gift when Gandalf first sat down. His thoughts going blank as he pried the lid of it open, only to spot a golden ring, resting in the center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourite lines Gandalf ever said in Lord of the Rings was at the very beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring, after Frodo has jumped into his cart and asks him about his adventures and the world outside the Shire, and Gandalf says " _Well, what can I tell you? Life in the wide world goes on much as it has these past age, full of its own comings and goings, scarcely aware of the existence of Hobbits... for which I am very thankful._ " And I just think it's very telling. And secondly-- on the note of Belladonna's ribbon, Bilbo has never actually seen it before, as clearly she lost it before she had him, but the colour and the lettering was very much his mothers, including the initials, so _thats_ how he knew it was hers. Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Magnolia is of my own creation, and her history with Ered Luin is obviously falsified but I loved playing with her history as a character and how it'll affect this story in the long run, even without implementing her fully.
> 
> Khuzdul:  
> zaglel - _moon of all moons_  
>  zazzûn - _bond_ \- literally, "your one."  
>   
> 
> [The Throne Room.](http://www.moddb.com/members/lorddainironfoot/images/the-throne-hall-of-erebor)


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